


proved right (but i hope i'm wrong)

by Snap_crackle_spock



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin is the POV character!!, Angst with a Happy Ending, Begins smack-dab in the middle of the Mortis Arc, F/M, Kind of a nobody-dies canon divergence but like... it's still sad, kind of a time travel story but not totally
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24013543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snap_crackle_spock/pseuds/Snap_crackle_spock
Summary: After emerging alone from the strange world that was Mortis, Anakin Skywalker finds himself welcomed back to a universe that was not how he'd left it.(OR: I suck at summaries but this is a Canon-Divergence fic where Anakin thinks he's gone for a few days but it turns out it's been a few years)
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/ Satine Kryze (mentioned), Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 120
Kudos: 374





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “Proved right but hope I'm wrong  
> When I turn my phone back on  
> No one noticed me gone  
> These are pains that don't just go away  
> With the good dreams  
> Or the passing days  
> Oh, these passing days just kill me”
> 
> \- Prince Daddy & the Hyena

“Absolutely not,” was Ahsoka’s immediate response. He had expected her to put up a fight (it’s what he would’ve done in her shoes) but he hadn’t expected her to  _ yell. _ Not just because he was supposed to be guiding her towards calmer, more Knightly reactions, but also because if she was going to raise her voice than he was definitely going to raise his. He knew he shouldn’t, good example and all, but it was very difficult to think that way in the split-second it took him to react.

“You’re not staying!” He decreed, crossing his arms as if to say  _ I’m not budging. _ Where was Obi-Wan in all of this? He knew his former Master would take his side, he had all the right reasoning, but this quick shouting match might be enough to dissuade him. If he didn’t think that Anakin could handle this on his own… He wouldn’t let Ahsoka leave by herself, either. Which meant that they would all three remain on this miserable world.

No. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka had to leave together. That was the only option. Anakin had to end this swiftly. 

“I’m not leaving you on this whack-job planet just so you-” she looked down at her feet, noticing that they both were on the rocky terrain of Mortis, and quickly backed up so she was on the ramp of the ship, eye-level with Anakin, “-so you can get yourself killed by some angry god!”

“You already  _ did _ get killed by him!” Anakin exclaimed, finally getting to the root of the problem.

Days spent on Mortis had not done him well. Days of constant reminders of being the Chosen One and watching his friends held captive in attempts to provoke a reaction and watching his Padawan die. Anakin had known death for quite some time now, had been familiar with it since his mom and the subsequent blind massacre of the Sandpeople. Still, having to hold Ahsoka’s limp body in his arms, after fighting tooth and nail to keep her from killing him, had taken something out of Anakin. It was only by a miracle, a literal gift from a god, that she was even breathing right now. He had seen what the Son was willing to do to those he didn’t need, and he refused to be selfish enough to put his friends in harm’s way any longer. 

So they had to leave. There was an emergency escape pod that Anakin could eject and keep with him until he was ready to leave, too, and he could just meet them outside the planet’s atmosphere. It was a  _ good plan. _ Why was nobody else seeing that?

“Master, I-” Ahsoka tried, and he could see the frustration behind her eyes. He knew that fire. She wanted to redeem herself. After everything that happened while she was under the Son’s control, after her death and following resurrection, they’d made their way back to the ship and she’d admitted she had little memory of what had happened. Still, he’d felt it was unfair to hide the truth from her, and had answered all the questions she thought to ask. As he’d answered more and more, though, he’d seen the guilt piling up, the need to prove those events wrong. 

It was the same feeling he’d had at the battle of Geonosis. 

“Ahsoka,” he moved up onto the ramp, slowly as if she’d skirt away like a frightened animal if he came to fast, and lightly set his hands on her shoulders. She sank into the touch, and he could feel how tired she was through the Force. How much she needed a break, despite claiming she didn’t. He was the same. That was why they were such a great team. That was why he needed to be her mentor instead of her friend right now.“I know. I know you want to fight and do something that you think will fix everything. It won’t. You’re tired, you’ve been through a lot the past few days, and if you stay you’re just going to get hurt again, and I don’t know if I can take that twice.”

She looked like she’s about to argue, so he quickly cut in again.

“Snips,” he squeezed her shoulders, “you don’t have anything to prove. Go try to get the engine started and I’ll come to help you in a minute.”

She gave him one last look, and for a second he thought she might let out a tear, but instead, she just surged forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, mumbling a quick  _ shut up _ , even though he didn’t say anything, before retreating into the bowels of the  _ Twilight. _

“You handled that well,” came the voice of his Master, both patronizing and generous at the same time. Anakin turned to see Obi-Wan leaning against one of the legs of the ship, arms crossed and contemplative. Anakin didn’t even remember hearing him come up the hill. 

“She’d listen more if you would’ve backed me up,” Anakin countered, wanting to cross his arms to show his disapproval but then thinking better of it and letting them come to rest behind his back. The military stance he’d grown so accustomed to in such a short period of time. 

“You’re not supposed to need backup,” Obi-Wan smirked at the challenge, his hand coming up to stroke his beard as he gave into Anakin’s taunt and allowed himself to be dragged into a verbal chess match. He’d never been able to resist a chance to prove his intelligence, at least when it came to Anakin. “Your Padawan is supposed to follow your orders without question.”

“She gets it from me,” Anakin drawled. They both knew Anakin had been a far bigger pain as a Padawan than Ahsoka ever had, and Obi-Wan hadn’t had a Grandmaster to pass some of his teaching responsibilities off to. 

“You’re sure about staying?” The older man asked, suddenly very somber. Anakin could feel the uncertainty coming from Obi-Wan in droves, his faith in his former Padawan challenged by the mystery of the planet. “The Son is a worthy adversary, and without the help of the Daughter and the Father’s weakening condition, I fear it may be a bigger challenge than anyone can handle alone.”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin sighed, letting his head hang, “I can’t let him get to her again. I know she’s good, but she’s still a kid. I don’t… I don’t know what I would have done if I couldn’t have brought her back.”

He felt a comforting hand on his back, in a way he hadn’t felt since he was still a Padawan. It felt like an escape. 

“It’s not your fault,” Obi-Wan promised, “you know that, right? There was nothing either of us could’ve done to stop him. Not with her under his control. You saved her life, Anakin. Don’t let the past cloud your head.”

“I just keep thinking about the fight,” he confessed, “If I had had sharper reflexes, or if I’d gotten to him sooner. He would’ve fallen before Ahsoka was even by his side. Instead, now the Daughter is dead, the Father’s weak, the Son’s in hiding, and my Padawan’s confidence is at an all-time low.” He looked up at Obi-Wan. “I  _ have  _ to kill him, Master. It’s the only way to keep that from happening to anyone else.”

Obi-Wan gave him a mixed look, the type that Anakin hated because he could never quite pin down what his Master was thinking. “Just be sure you’re acting for the right reasons, Anakin,” he said, his hand sliding off the younger’s back, “you’re staying to keep the universe safe, as is your duty to the Jedi Order and the Force. Not to enact some revenge plot for harming your student.”

With that, Obi-Wan let his arms fall behind his back and he made his way onto the ship, leaving Anakin to stand under the cover of the  _ Twilight _ as the rain fell around him, left with nothing but his Master’s cautionary words. 

* * *

Anakin didn’t know how to feel when he watched the  _ Twilight  _ engage its thrusters and push off of the surface. Obi-Wan had spent the better part of the last hour bemoaning the fact that the, quote, “hunk of garbage” wouldn’t make it out of orbit, as if Anakin hadn’t been fiddling with the wires of a  _ much _ less reliable escape pod he was planning on taking through the same ringer. His Master shouldn’t have been worried. Anakin had taught Ahsoka all he could when it came to mechanics (no Padawan of his was  _ ever _ going to be stranded with a crashed ship and not be able to put it back together again) and Anakin had popped into the underbelly of the ship to assist whenever he could feel Ahsoka getting particularly agitated. 

There was never any doubt in his mind that the  _ Twilight _ was going to make it off the ground. 

So why was he suddenly so disappointed when they disappeared into the sky?

It wasn’t like it would even be that long before he saw them again. He’d reasoned that hunting down and killing the Son would take two,  _ maybe _ three days. Then he’d leave Mortis behind and be reunited with them, safe and sound.

It dawned on him, suddenly, that that’s what was off. He couldn’t feel them anymore. The Force worked strangely on this planet, that much was clear from the moment they’d landed, but it only just then clicked for why Anakin had been so out of sorts the past few days.

Beyond what was on the planet, which wasn’t much, he couldn’t register anything in the Force. Being the Chosen One, a title he always found himself rolling his eyes a little more at, meant power. Even on distant planets, Anakin could always feel a connection with those closest to him, sometimes strong as durasteel and sometimes faint as the light rain falling around him at that very moment.

No matter how many missions he had to go on, forced to abandon Padme on Couroscant or Naboo, he was always put at ease by the fact that if he closed his eyes and focused, he could see her in the back of his head, safe under the watchful eye of her guards. 

But not on Mortis. 

“You made a bold choice, staying here to fight alone,” the Father said, suddenly by Anakin’s side. He didn’t look up, didn’t feel the need to acknowledge the being’s presence. If he hadn’t brought them here, they would have been just fine. 

“It wasn’t a choice,” Anakin gritted out, carefully clipping a wire and holding it between his pinky and ring finger for later usage. This wasn’t so different from building Threepio, if he exchanged mobility function circuitry for channels to the thrusters. 

“Still,” the Father’s voice came from all around, an effect that still hadn’t lost its gravitas on Anakin, “I admire your sacrifice.”

What Anakin  _ wanted _ to bite out was a quick list of all the places the Father could stick his big, stupid hat. Instead, he forced himself to recall Obi-Wan’s teachings and settled to take a deep breath in and out. He needed to remember that it was much easier to kill one angry god than two.

“My son,” the Father started, and Anakin wanted to throw his wrench, “is not immune to the promises of the Dark Side. Nor, I think, are you.”

“We all battle with the pull of the Dark Side,” Anakin said, echoing words he’d been telling himself since he was a Padawan. Obi-Wan had repeated this phrase over and over, every time he felt Anakin flicker towards hatred, every instance that Anakin gave in to his instincts a little too much and took the less noble option. “What matters is overcoming those desires.”

Anakin still hadn’t turned to see the Father, but he could hear him give a soft laugh.

“In some other world, should you have come alone as intended, you would’ve made an excellent mediator for my children. Not easily swayed by one or the other.”

Finally,  _ finally _ , Anakin felt the brief spark of life flit through the escape pod he’d taken apart and put back together. It would be an uncomfortable ride off the planet, as he’d diverted all power from amenities (heating and cooling, excessive oxygen conversion, on-craft lighting) to the thrusters, but it should be enough to allow him to leave. 

“Yeah, well,” Anakin finally turned around, high off the rush of a successful project, “this isn’t some other world, and your Son killed my friend, so I guess we don’t always get what we want.”

“No,” the Father said, remaining serene in the wake of Anakin’s sudden aggression, “I suppose no one does.” In the blink of an eye, he was gone, leaving nothing but the blue sword the Daughter had given her life to protect, and the looming indication of what Anakin needed to do.

* * *

Tracking down the Son was not difficult. Anakin could feel the pulsating heat of the Dark Side emulating from his location. With only two other beings on the planet, Anakin felt more attuned than usual to the whereabouts of the Father and Son. 

Silently, he cursed his lack of forethought of transportation. On the  _ Twilight, _ there were two perfectly good speeders, left unused aboard the ship’s cargo bay. He could’ve really used one for this mission. Instead, they were up in the atmosphere beyond his grasp, and he was forced to make his way to the Son on foot. 

The coolant pump felt like it was burning a hole in the pouch he’d hastily stuffed it in. It had felt sacrilegious, taking apart the pod he’d just spent so much time fixing up, but he’d rather spend an extra hour on Mortis putting everything back together again than risk the Son getting his hands on a working ship. Other pieces, a power converter and the wires for the cooling system of the thrusters, were hidden away in places he figured even a god would have difficulty pinpointing. 

As he neared the pit that he could feel the Son stowed away in, he couldn’t help but absorb the energy surrounding it. Angry, volatile energy that seemed to be spitting and hissing for a chance at escape. He tried to touch as little of it as he could. 

“I’ve been expecting you,” the Son hummed when Anakin finally landed on the lava-surrounded platform. He got points for patience, at least, as it had taken the Jedi a hot second to climb down the rocky walls. 

“They always are,” Anakin rolled his eye, releasing the sword from where he’d strapped it to his back. It was heavier than he was used to, his lightsaber suddenly seeming light as a feather in comparison. Still, he’d seen what these beings could do to their sabers. To them, they were nothing but an inconvenience. So Anakin brandished the heavy blade, satisfied with the Son’s clear aversion to it. 

“What, are you here to kill me?” He arched his brow, his black and red eyes bored or amused or maybe a bit of both. “That hardly seems the Jedi way.”

“I can’t let you leave. Not anymore.”

“You could just take your ship, leave me and my father to deal with familial issues for ourselves,” the Son posed, seemingly more intent on playing games with Anakin than anything else. He hated it when his adversaries tried to pull this. They were never nearly as clever as they thought they were. 

“Don’t make this difficult,” Anakin warned, eager to just get this over with. He wanted to go home. Padme would be waiting for him on Coruscant. The Senate had just reconvened, and she’d been intent on sharing her new plan for using Naboo as a hub for farmers to grow their crops with a few of her compatriots before she brought it to the floor. 

The Son merely smiled, crossing his arms in the way Anakin had seen Obi-Wan do countless times. He and Ahsoka probably had been able to get a signal to Rex by that point, and the  _ Resolute _ was probably on its way as he stood there. He didn’t want to keep them waiting long, burning precious Republic resources. 

“Very well, Master Skywalker,” the Son pressed on, smirking at the way Anakin’s grip tightened on the sword, “Oh? Perhaps I misspoke. Not a Master, then?”

Anakin knew he was being baited, it was  _ painfully _ obvious. But the little voice in the back of his head, that bastard, was lighting up like a flame at the taunt. 

_ Never going to be a Master, actually.  _

_ Can’t even take on a Sith Lord without losing your cool. Or a limb. Sometimes both at the same time.  _

_ Obi-Wan couldn’t  _ wait _ to get rid of you, how pathetic is that? The Master with infinite patience probably  _ begged _ the Council to make you a Knight early just so he wouldn’t have to deal with you anymore. _

“You know that there’s no situation where you win this battle,” Anakin challenged, incredibly aware that he didn’t answer the question in the slightest.

The Son sighed again, looking around his small, dark kingdom. “No… I suppose not.” He looked back at Anakin, smiling, “ _ but _ I do think that you’re going to come to regret your decision to stay here and fight.  _ Immensely _ . And I think that that could be enough to-”

Anakin didn’t let him finish, swinging the blade in a wide arc and letting out a relieved sigh when it passed through the god’s neck with barely a loss in momentum.

The thunk of the body hitting the ground was one he’d grown used to. That was the true price of fighting in a war, after all. The desensitization, as Padme would call it. Anakin just let the blade hang heavy in his hands, pulling his torso over with it. 

Hanging there for a moment, doubled over on a strange planet surrounded by lava, Anakin Skywalker allowed himself to catch his breath. He’d done what was necessary to protect the universe from the rise of another Sith lord. This was he’d sworn to do when he’d taken the oath to become a Knight. This was his duty. 

Looking up, the climb back out of the pit seemed impossible. 

* * *

As Anakin worked his way back to his make-shift ship, power converter and cooling system wires safely retrieved and held tight in his white-knuckled hand, he couldn’t help but replay the past hour in his head over and over. He’d gone back and forth on what to do with the Son’s body, eventually deciding to leave him where he was, though he lay him out kindly and folded his hands over the sword he’d been felled by. Briefly, he’d pictured leaving him in a crumpled heap inside a volcano. Briefly, he’d thought about kicking him into the churning pool of lava. Letting him rest in a somewhat presentable way seemed like the least cruel option, so that’s what he’d settled on.

“I take it your mission was successful?” The Father’s booming voice came, “my son has been defeated?”

Part of Anakin wanted to tell him to go see for himself if he cared so much. Part of him wanted to apologize for killing his last child. This conflict resulted in only a brief stutter of Anakin’s strides, before he pressed silently onwards, gripping the ship’s components just a bit tighter. 

He’d done what he’d had to. 

Simple as that. 

“You’ve done well, young Skywalker,” the Father tried again, “and I am grateful for your intervention.”

“I don’t care,” Anakin grumbled, knowing he shouldn’t. He  _ should _ be thanking the Father for his helpfulness throughout the whole process. He  _ should _ be trying to see what other secrets of the Force the ancient being that was in front of him could offer.

But none of that seemed appealing in the slightest. Instead, Anakin found himself wanting to loose all his frustrations at the old man, wanting to yell and scream about the stress he’d been put under for the past few days. 

_ Inhale, _ Obi-Wan’s voice said in the back of his mind,  _ take stock of the things around you. Let the Force flow through you and take your personal biases with it. A Jedi’s place is between those who are defenseless and those who seek to cause them harm. _

The Son would have caused harm throughout the galaxy. The Father was defenseless against him. 

He looked up to the Father, who was looking down on him benevolently. 

“What will you do, now that your children are gone?” Anakin found himself asking, not out of interest but simply because he felt bad for being rude. 

The Father just nodded, gazing out over the rocky expanse of Mortis. “I suppose I will tend to this planet until my dying breath, and then I will join my children in the next life.”

Anakin felt a flash of shame, one he knew he shouldn’t be experiencing, cross his cheeks. He was intimately aware of death, but even more so of the survivor’s guilt that came with being the last member of your bloodline. Thank the stars for Padme, who was always there, now. 

“Here, young Skywalker,” the Father said, drawing Anakin back to the present, and he looked down to see the Father holding out the blue sword he’d just slain his son with, presenting it like a gift, “for your troubles.”

“How did you-”

“Time works differently on this planet,” the old man hummed, taking Anakin’s empty, robotic hand, and wrapping it around the hilt of the weapon, “and I cannot bear to have a reminder of their deaths remain.”

“I can’t. The Jedi aren’t ones for personal items and I would just worry that-”

“Please,” the Father asked, sincerity clouding his voice, “take it. You’ll have much more use for it than I will.”

“I don’t know what to say-”

“Then don’t. Return to your ship and your war.”

“I- Thank you,” Anakin sputtered, still shocked at the turn of events. He carefully sheathed it next to his lightsaber, still numb with the speed at which everything seemed to be happening. 

The Father lay a gray hand on his shoulder, and Anakin felt the way he would had it been Obi-Wan in his place. A comforting presence of a teacher giving their grace to a student. 

“Go.”

* * *

As Anakin started up the renovated escape pod, the sword strapped firmly to the back of his chair, he felt a strange wave of nausea roll over him. It couldn’t be starsickness, he’d practically been born in the pilot’s seat, so as he broke through the dense layer of clouds, he chalked it up to the trickle of the Force returning to him once again. 

He was incredibly aware of the Father’s blue and black eyes tracking his movements to the sky from the planet. 

And, from the stars, he was aware that something felt completely, undescribably  _ off. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anakin makes the perilous journey home.

The first indication that something was off was immediate, and in hindsight, he really should’ve gotten the message from the get-go. As Anakin left the atmosphere of Mortis, the planet seemingly there one moment and then gone the next, he saw no signs of his crew. No  _ Twilight _ or  _ Resolute _ insight. 

“Okay then,” he murmured, already antsy from being cooped up in the small escape pod without even Artoo to keep him company. It was no matter. Surely there was a reason that Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, and his  _ whole  _ battalion weren’t where they were supposed to be. 

_ We’re at war, _ he reminded himself,  _ the Council probably told them that we couldn’t let two of our best Jedi spend who knows how long in the middle of nowhere with a small army. Not only would they be taken out of the fight, but they would be sitting ducks for any Separatist fleet that gets wind of their location. _

It was with this logic that he found himself reasoning that they probably were in short-range, and that a simple radio transmission would be all it took to call up his ride. He went to find the communications system, ready to send a short and possibly snarky message to Rex, playfully chastising the clone for leaving his Jedi stranded out in the open, except there was no communications system. He pursed his lips in annoyance when his hand found nothing but empty space where the speaker was supposed to be.

_ Right. All amenities that were not absolutely necessary were removed in order to route more power to the thrusters so there would be enough power to get off-world.  _

He tipped his head back, letting it thud against the headrest of the seat, silently cursing himself for being so single-minded.

In a lame attempt at contact, one he pretty much knew would be a failure before he even did it, he raised his wrist up and activated the comm-link in his glove. They were only made to work over short, same-planet distances, and half the time he and Ahsoka kept theirs off in order to avoid unwanted noises during stealth missions, but he thought he’d at least give it a try. 

“This is Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker,” he said into the little device, screwing his eyes closed at the inevitability of his failure, “I’m requesting pick-up. I’m stranded and in desperate need of assistance. Please confirm.”

It was nothing other than complete and nonsensical hope that kept him quiet for the next three minutes, waiting desperately for a response. There was none. 

He thought briefly about trying to disconnect the comm-link from his wrist and make an attempt to attach it to the ship, to see if perhaps he could do something to boost the signal, but ultimately decided against it. He’d rather not risk overriding the system completely when there was only the cold vacuum of space waiting for him, should the ship fail. Besides, a ship of this size probably only had so much range in the first place, and if he wasted all that time  _ and  _ managed to get it to function, only for it to still not patch through to anyone, that was probably at least a quarter of his oxygen reserve wasted when he could’ve been traveling to an actually populated area. 

The sword behind him felt like it was giving off heat, which made him want to arch his spine to keep from touching the chair back. Some gift. It was probably cursed, like everything else on that Bantha fodder of a planet.

_ Focus, _ he scolded himself, trying to rationalize his situation,  _ there’s no time for getting stuck in the past. Focus on where you’re going in the future.  _

Anakin closed his eyes, allowing himself to tap back into the Force in a way he’d been so deprived of in the past few days. Everything felt louder than the last time he’d been able to really connect with the universe. 

All around him, stars were trying to eat themselves alive. Distantly, he could feel desolate asteroids hurtling at each other with slow and cruel intent. He could sense life and death again, and it almost brought tears to his eye. 

_ Sharpen your mind, _ Obi-Wan’s voice coached,  _ what are you looking for, and how does it feel? _

Civilization. A spaceport. That was what Anakin was looking for. Someplace with a lot of ships and very few questions. 

There were muttered words that ran through the back of his head, things he couldn’t make out but understood the connotation of. There were engines lighting themselves on fire and eager pilots ready to fly. People running from or to. 

With his destination in mind, Anakin opened his eyes and pressed down the steering controls, hoping that the modest amount of fuel that the pod (what he’d decided to christen  _ The Evenfall) _ was enough to get him there.

* * *

By the time he reached the spaceport, the  _ Evenfall _ was chugging her last breaths. As the little escape pod stuttered its way into a hangar –probably much to the frustration of the port owners who he hadn’t been able to contact in order to warn for his arrival– he could feel it basically falling apart beneath him.

Overall, he was impressed that it had managed to last as long as it did. The port had been farther than he’d initially anticipated, and it had gotten to the point that he was considering starting to gnaw on the leather of his armor to stave off his hunger. Though the journey had been long and uncomfortable (and  _ cold _ ), Anakin imagined he couldn’t have gotten this far without all of those sacrifices. 

After he landed (not his prettiest) and waved off some of the repair droids that looked like they had a bone to pick with him for invading their space, he grabbed the minimal supplies he’d brought with him and kicked open the hatch. 

Being able to breathe synthetic air that hadn’t already through his system twice over felt like taking a cold shower, a shot of adrenaline right into his bloodstream. He’d been forced to remain awake for the entire journey to the spaceport as there was no auto-pilot equipped on the pod, and even though there was usually nothing he found more relaxing than taking a ship for a lazy journey, the days on Mortis had been long and he was tired. 

“What in the Sith hells do you think you’re doing in my hangar?” a sharp voice called from behind him. He inhaled deeply, brushed a hand through his hair in an effort to at least appear presentable, and turned with what he hoped was his award-winning smile. 

The woman in front of him was short and stout, a welding torch brandished in her hand like a weapon and the blue jumpsuit she had on covered with grease spots. A mechanic, then. Maybe the port doubled as a repair shop.  _ Good. _ That would mean there were a lot of ships. 

“Official Jedi business, my apologies. I was left stranded with nothing but a modified pod,” he gestured to the  _ Evenfall, _ only for one of the thrusters to promptly fall off, “as you can see, it won’t take me the rest of my journey. Would you please point me towards your communications tower?”

The woman just gave him a sour look, clicking her torch on and off as she was in thought. Anakin took note of the fact that both her hands were synthetic, though unlike Anakin’s they were uncovered and startlingly attention-grabbing. They looked to be well taken care of, at least. 

“You don’t look like a Jedi,” she tested, still flicking the torch on and off. 

_ Sithspit, _ Anakin thought in disbelief, schooling his features to not give himself away. Sure, Jedi were usually found in beige and white but was he really about to be denied assistance because he decided to wear navy instead of tan? Was that what the galaxy had come to?

Briefly, he considered just igniting his saber to prove his Knighthood; that was usually enough to shut people up and convince them to help him. But that wasn’t what Obi-Wan would do, so Anakin just widened his smile and hoped it was enough to keep the frustration out of his eyes. 

“Do you want me to lift my ship with my hands tied behind my back in order to convince you?”

She seemed to consider it for a second, then glanced at his gloved hand and shrugged. “Nah, I’ll take your word for it, Mr. Jedi.” She turned and began walking, and Anakin trailed behind her, “you’re welcome to rest your feet while your here, but we don’t have any of those fancy communication towers. We’re too far away from any of those big planets for it to be worth the money.”

“To far?” he asked. When he, Ahsoka, and Obi-Wan had been pulled into Mortis they’d been flying through the Mid-Rim. Where had that planet spat him back out?

“Yeah?” She asked, tossing a strange look over her shoulder, “you’re in the Outer-Rim, honey. About two lightyears from Tattooine.”

_ Of course. Of _ course _ he ended up right by Tattooine. The universe was never kind to him, was it? _

“Kori!” the woman called as they entered what appeared to be an office, with a workbench off to the side that was littered with a dozen low-grade repair tools. In the other corner was a holoscreen, with headlines scrolling by above a desk filled with scattered papers. Anakin never much cared for politics, so he was happy to tune it out. “Get in here!”

There was a brief crash from behind the door on the other side of the room before it flew open and a young woman, probably around Ahsoka’s age, came in with an armful of various papers. She looked similar to the older woman, who was probably her mother, but in place of a worker’s jumpsuit, she had on a more formal outfit, one that wasn’t made for manual labor. The numbers girl, then. 

“Who’s that, ma?” She asked, glancing between her mother and Anakin as she set down her papers on the workbench, only for the older woman to come over and pick them up again, moving them to the already cluttered desk. 

“Says he’s a Jedi,” the woman said, flicking through the papers quickly before her daughter came and shooed her away.

“Well, he doesn’t look like a Jedi.”

“That’s what I said!” The mother exclaimed, her mechanical hands whirring. “But it’s a slow day and I’m feeling generous. Besides, looks like he’s a local boy and we have to look out for our own.”

What was with everyone and the whole ‘doesn’t look like a Jedi’ business? Were they all just completely out of the loop because of the distance? If they wanted to see someone who  _ really _ didn’t look like a Jedi, they should’ve seen Ahsoka circa two years ago, back when the Council seemed to need convincing that a 14-year-old shouldn’t wear a tube top into an active war zone. 

“Well, what do you want  _ me _ to do with him?” Kori asked, still sizing Anakin up with her eyes, the distasteful look her mother had given him present. He felt terribly awkward standing there like a skewered womp rat, just letting them pick apart whether or not he should be turned over to the cruel intent of space. But what else could he do? 

“Keep an eye on him while I go grab something to drink. Then we’ll see what we can do about his ship,” it looked like it pained her to call the  _ Evenfall _ as much, “I’m assuming that if you’re actually a Jedi, the Republic will reimburse us for our hospitality.”

“Yeah, of course,” he nodded. 

“They’d better,” Kori mumbled as she sat down in the chair behind the desk, watching her mother leave through the door she’d entered from. 

Minutes passed in an awkward silence, as she became more and more engrossed with her paperwork, and Anakin didn’t want to break her concentration and give her another reason to be suspicious of him. Eventually, the holoscreen behind her head announced some sort of bill passing in the Senate, agriculture or anthropologic or something else that Anakin didn’t really care about, and he decided he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“So why Outer-rim?” He asked, more out of a desire to start a conversation than anything else. Kori just looked at him, unimpressed, and straightened her papers. 

“I could ask you the same question,” she arched a thin eyebrow, “we don’t get that many Jedi in these parts.”

“I’m from out here,” he said, leaning against the workbench. That felt like the easy answer compared to ‘I was in a pocket dimension and had to kill an immortal being’. There were a handful of droid parts scattered across the surface, too, with apparently no rhyme or reason connecting them, and Anakin felt the urge to fiddle and fix. 

“You’re full of it,” Kori snorted, brushing her skirt off as she stood and made her way over to the thin filing cabinet, searching for some document or another, “the last Jedi they picked up from way out here was Anakin Skywalker.”

_ Oh, you’ve  _ got _ to be kidding me, _ Anakin silently screamed. For a second he thought he was actually going to have a conniption. 

“I  _ am  _ Anakin Skywalker,” he exclaimed, eyes wide in frustration. So they knew who he was but not what he looked like? 

Kori turned to get another good look at him, her files held tight against her chest. There was something disbelieving in her eyes as she looked him up and down. She seemed to be turning the thought over and over in her head, going back and forth on whether or not he was to be believed. Eventually, she opened her mouth to speak.

“Anakin Skywalker was blond, but okay.”

Anakin was about to fight back and point out that he was, in fact,  _ dirty _ blond and it was just the  _ lighting _ that was deceiving her and  _ also _ he probably knew what color his own hair was better than she would when the old woman came back into the room. 

“I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news for you, kid,” she said, thrusting a cooled bottle of some umber colored liquid into his hand, which he gladly took a sip of. It was sweet, with a bit of a kick to it. Something in the back of his mind made a connection between the beverage and his home planet. 

“The good news,” she said, handing a bottle to Kori as well, “is that we could probably fix your incredibly scrappy hunk of junk enough to get her to fly again. The  _ bad _ news is that you would probably only get as far as Tattooine before she decided to quit on you again.”

“I can’t just borrow one of your other ships?” He asked, still boiling with annoyance at Kori’s comments, “it looks like you’ve got plenty to spare.”

“Those aren’t mine, those are ships that my customers have asked me to fix up for them in exchange for credits. Credits you don’t seem to actually have on you, I might add.” 

Anakin couldn’t argue. He wanted to,  _ really _ wanted to, but couldn’t. Instead, he just folded in on himself against the workbench, thinking. He was tired. He needed to rest, probably meditate, if Obi-Wan’s teachings were to be believed. This wasn’t the time for a fight. 

“Here, there’s a common area down that hall and to the left that we keep operational for folks like yourself who are just passing through,” the woman said, adopting that matronly tone that Anakin had seen in his own mother, “there are some couches and blankets. Why don’t you go rest and we’ll get started on your scrap heap.” 

Anakin looked between her and her daughter, and he felt bad. Bad for intruding on their small business and bad for being difficult when, really, neither of them had been much more than hospitable, if a bit prickly. 

He decided that, at least for right now, he’d let them have their way, and would go to lay down and think of his next move. Stars know he was  _ never _ setting foot on Tattooine again, but maybe one of the other civilians passing through would have a working communications board that he could radio for help with. 

As he made his way back into the hangar, though, he did hear the mother-daughter team muttering behind his back. 

“Ma, he says he’s Anakin Skywalker-”

“Kori, I don’t want to deal with it right now. I’d rather just fix the man’s ship and send him on his way than have a crazy person running around my port.”

The funniest thing was, it only dawned on him then that Kori had said that Anakin Skywalker  _ was _ blond instead of  _ is. _

* * *

He really did feel bad when he ended up having to hotwire a shuttle. Not just for whoever he was stealing actually from, but for Kori and her mother, who he was robbing of business. He knew how hard it was to get by as a mechanic in the scarcely traversed Outer-rim. He resolved to send them a hefty reward as he stripped the end of the wires he’d just torn from the underside of the control panel in the cockpit. The Republic had the resources, and though this was not the  _ first _ time Anakin had had to commandeer a spacecraft in the name of the Grand Army, it  _ was  _ the first time he’d gotten to know those who would pay for its loss beforehand. The first time they were from his home planet and had offered him help and a place to rest. 

The wires sparked together, sending a rush of adrenaline through Anakin’s own system, and he quickly glanced around him to make sure that nobody happened to be passing by to see him hotwiring the ship. He didn’t want to bring that kind of a reputation to the Order. 

As the coast was clear, Anakin quickly skirted into the pilot’s seat, flicking the switches to engage the thrusters, and set to work evacuating the little spaceport. 

It was only as he was pulling out of the hangar, out into the vacuum of space, that he even noticed the projected sign above, with welcoming and nostalgic typography. 

**Callah & Kori & Co. **

He vowed that the very first thing he would do once he returned to Coruscant would be to ask the Chancellor to personally send them a message of thanks with a hundred Republic credits. 

(After seeing Padme, of course.)

* * *

On the flight back to Coruscant, Anakin kept himself busy. He still couldn’t get a message to the Order because this ship didn’t have access to the Republic’s private frequencies, but at least he could entertain himself by working on upgrades in the engine room. If he was going to steal a ship, he might as well leave it better than when he’d gotten it. 

There was only so much he could do while the ship was actually flying, things like adjusting the cooling system or rewiring the lights, but he could manage. Using the Force felt like taking a deep breath for the first time in days, even though it was for nothing more than holding up screwdrivers as he dug through the control panel or finding exactly what was whining about being tightened too much.

The sword the Father had given him still felt heavy on his back, but it didn’t feel right, taking it off, so instead he kept it on while he worked. Kept it on while he went through his forms after he’d fixed everything he could find that needed fixing. Even when he sat down to meditate, an activity he was quite well-known for his adversary to. 

Focusing, he reached out for the people that mattered. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka and Padme.

He figured, at that point, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka and the 501st would’ve realized he didn’t have means to contact them, and probably had made their way back to the Temple to await his arrival. He shouldn’t be mad at them, especially since Mortis didn’t let him out in the same place he’d come in. For all he knew, they could’ve even still been there, stuck waiting for him. 

Fine, then. See Padme, contact Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, and  _ then _ send his thanks to Callah and Kori. 

Meditating did nothing to help him locate his Padawan or Master in the Force. Realistically, it was his body still adjusting to going from 100 to 0 and back to 100, and they were probably fine. Wherever they were. 

Still, it bothered him that he couldn’t get a read on them. 

Eventually, and by eventually he means after  _ days _ , he dropped out of hyperspace near Coruscant. The familiar sight of ships going to and from the bustling city-planet was a sight for sore eyes, even though it had only been just over a week since he was last at the Temple. Something about the purple and gold glow of the planet always served to calm his nerves. Probably because it was the polar opposite of Tatooine, but he didn’t really want to go down that line of thinking.

“This is Coruscant Air Traffic Control, please identify yourself,” a voice buzzed through the speaker of the ship’s comm, and Anakin furrowed his eyebrows. That wasn’t Admiral Rhysio, who was usually in charge of controlling ships entering the Coruscant airspace. But he was probably just out. If Anakin remembered correctly, Rhysio’s wife was due to be giving birth soon. Maybe the baby had just decided to come early. 

“I read you, sir,” Anakin replied, flipping the switches to slow down his descent, “this is Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker requesting permission to land at the Temple landing platform, please confirm.”

There seemed to be some confusion going on on the other end of the communications line, a handful of muffled voices talking over one another, before the man reignited the conversation. 

“This shuttle does not have clearance for the Temple landing platform. What is your identification code?”

“8101!” Anakin rattled off, growing increasingly more frustrated with Rhysio’s replacement. After all, Anakin  _ outranked _ this guy, and even if the ship was unrecognizable, it’s not like this was the first time that Jedi came back to Coruscant in different ships than they left in. “Listen, I’m entering the atmosphere, can I land at the Temple or not?”

There was silence on the other end before, “Sir, that identification code is currently deactivated. Please find somewhere else to land, or we will be forced to enter defensive protocols.”

With that, the line clicked off, and Anakin almost beat his hands against the dashboard in frustration. 

He was  _ so _ getting this new guy demoted. 

* * *

In the end, he decided to just land at Padme’s personal landing platform. The perks of being a Senator, and all. Besides, he’d wanted to see her before anyone else, so really it worked out in his favor. It was still early in the day on Coruscant, so chances were that she still hadn’t made her way over to the Senate yet, probably still putting on all of the layers and layers of her extravagant outfits. 

He still couldn’t sense her, couldn’t sense anyone in particular, but he could feel lifeforms of some kind in the penthouse. 

The living room looked different than he remembered, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. Padme was a politician, and a damn good one at that. She understood the importance of staying on trend with everything in her life, from apparel to interior design. It would never be said that a house party at the Amidala residence was dampened by an out-of-date layout. Still, it warmed his heart to see his favorite chair still standing in the corner, a spot it hadn’t been moved from in years. She’d tried to give it away, back when they were still newly-wed, and he’d thrown a whole fit about how nothing’s ever been more comfortable. Since then, she’d left it where it stood, a testament to the fact that even passing trends and political influence couldn’t come between them. 

It was honestly embarrassing that up until he heard the crash of a dish on the floor he didn’t even know someone else was in the room with him.

He spun around quickly, his hand on his saber and ready to ignite, but it was just Padme. (Well, not  _ just _ Padme. It could never be  _ just _ Padme. It was never a disappointing thing to see her.) 

In the dim lighting of the morning, he could only just make out her face. Her hair was still down and she was still wearing a nightdress. So the small armada of hairstylists and costumers hadn’t arrived yet. That was always a welcome notice. 

“Ani?” She asked, her hands still stationary at her waist, as if she was still holding the glass dish that was now shattered at her feet. He hated the way her voice trembled when she said his name, knew that she grew concerned every time she didn’t hear from him because of the perils of war, and he felt terrible for not calling her ahead of time. 

“Padme,” He sighed and rushed towards her, eager to take her in his arms in the way he craved to every time they were apart. As he neared her, though, he couldn’t help but notice the way she tensed up as he approached, the way she stepped back the slightest bit.

Something was wrong. 

“Padme, are you okay? Is-” he looked around them, trying to tell if anything out of the ordinary. His senses were still clouded, but surely something like an intruder would be easy enough to see, “-is someone else here?” He whispered. 

“Anakin, you’re here,” she just sighed, her brows knitting together in a concern that seemed foreign on her face. He took her hands in his, pressing a quick kiss to her knuckles, wanting to do everything he could to wipe the sad look from her face. 

“Of course I’m here,” He chuckled, but something still felt off, he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles again, and there it was. An unmistakable bump on her fourth finger on her left hand. A ring, an expensive one at that, that had definitely  _ not _ been there the last time he’d seen her. 

“Anakin, I thought you were dead,” she surged forward, taking him by surprise and twining her slender arms around his torso. She held him tightly, as if she were afraid to let him slip away. 

“I’ve been gone for a week,” he said, still reeling from the discovery of the ring. Carefully, cautiously, he set his own hands on the small of her back, though it didn’t offer him the same calming feeling he’d been hoping for. “There have been times where we haven’t seen each other for months. This was nothing.”

“Ani,” she pulled away, and now that he could see her face, could get a good look at it even in the dim light, he could see the changes. They were subtle, but he knew her the way he knew himself, and it was ridiculous that he hadn’t picked up on them sooner. Her cheekbones were just  _ that _ much sharper, her flawless skin creased into smile lines around her eyes  _ just so. _ Something was very,  _ very _ wrong. “Ani, you’ve been gone for years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Grammarly tells me to delete a comma one more time I'm breaking my computer


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anakin is reintroduced to life on Coruscant.

The world felt like it was spinning far too fast around Anakin.

Years.  _ Years? _ He’d been gone for a handful of  _ days _ . But it sickened him, how easily things started slotting together with that final puzzle piece.  _ Was blond. The fact that his clearance code was deactivated. Rhysio’s apparent retirement. How his crew had seemingly abandoned him. _

His crew would never abandon him. 

Padme would  _ never _ just move on without him.

They hadn’t even had a body! What had convinced them all to just let him go and get on with their lives?

He broke away from Padme’s gentle grip, stumbling back a bit and feeling the glass break beneath his boots only in theory. He should sit down. He should  _ lay _ down. He’d been traveling for days ( _ years, _ apparently) and he could barely fight the urge to lay down on the floor right then and there and just sleep.

Sleep. That must be the answer. He’d fallen asleep in the ship on his way back to Coruscant and this was all some terrible nightmare. He wasn’t unused to them, and the way things were shaping up, there was no way any of this was real. 

If he could pinch himself, he would, but his hands seemed to stop working, along with every other appendage. Probably just a side effect of lucid dreaming. That was the only explanation. 

Stars, he was hot. Or maybe cold. Or maybe neither, because he was in a dream, after all. It didn’t really matter, he supposed, seeing as how he would be waking up any second. 

Why wasn’t he waking up?

“Ani,” Padme tried again, pressing forward carefully and raising a timid hand like she was addressing some wounded animal. He wasn’t some broken thing. He was a Jedi Knight and the general of the 501st and a loving husband and  _ dead _ he was  _ dead to the galaxy. _

He was also so, very hot. 

“Anakin!” Padme called as she grasped his forearms, finally pulling him back down to her penthouse to her kitchen to her. She had always known how to calm him down, hadn’t she? He could feel himself melting into her grip, welcoming the chance to lean on someone else. 

“Anakin,” she brought a hand to his cheek, “please go lie down? I’m sure it’s a lot and…” she trailed off for a second, a sad look plaguing her eyes, “Ani you look so tired.”

“I’m not tired,” he heard himself lie, “I’m just confused right now, ‘s all.”

She smiled her most knowing smile, and in that way she didn’t seem to have changed at all. To him, she looked just the same in that moment as the last time he’d seen her. 

“I know,” she said as her hand traveled up to lightly brush through his hair, “I’m confused too. But… for now? Rest. We can go over everything later.”

“I love you,” he whispered, and it was only muscle memory that had him swoop in and plant a chaste kiss on her lips, fast enough that neither even had time to react. As the realization dawned on him, he quickly turned on his heels and made his way to their bedroom, not noticing the way Padme was left in the kitchen, her hands hovering above where Anakin’s lips had just been, still catching her breath. 

* * *

Anakin didn’t expect to be able to sleep as he passed like a ghost through Padme’s home.  _ Their _ home. As he walked into the bedroom that still looked somewhat familiar, if a bit shifted around, he fully anticipated lying in the bed and staring at the ceiling for the next few hours, until enough time had passed where he could go back out into the living room, pretending to be well-rested, and ask his steadily growing list of questions. 

This turned out to not be the case. As soon as his head hit the plush pillows that Padme seemed to love so much (a lovely contrast to the strikingly unremarkable pillows of the Jedi Temple), he was out like a light. 

When he eventually did wake from a dreamless sleep, though, he didn’t feel calmly renewed. Instead of being tired and miserable, now he was miserable and hyperaware. It could’ve been so easy to trick himself into thinking it really  _ was _ all a dream, except for the fact that when he opened his eyes, what used to be his nightstand was gone, replaced with a fragile-looking glass table. 

The one saving grace of it all, the one thing that kept him from beginning to spiral again, was the familiar smell wafting in from the kitchen. As he made his way out of the bedroom again, he realized that several hours must have passed. Outside it was sunny and bustling with traffic, as opposed to the relative peace of dawn that he’d arrived to. The light shining in through the large windows only served to illuminate the changes to the penthouse. Walls had changed colors, paintings had been replaced, and furniture had been cycled in with the season. And there, in the center of it all, was Padme, still in her nightgown despite it being well into the day. 

“You’re awake,” she said when she finally saw him. She was holding a tray full of pastries, five-blossom bread from the look of it. It was a little-known fact about Senator Amidala that, despite being raised in luxury and having a personal chef, she was a serial stress-baker. Anakin would arrive home to find cakes and other confections of all sorts lining the counter like a small militia, only to later find out that Padme had been waiting to hear back from some of her less radical coworkers on whether or not they would be supporting whatever bill she was proposing at the time. But five-blossom bread was reserved for special occasions. She’d told him once while she’d been twisting the uncooked dough that all Amidala children were taught how to make the pastry when they turned eight, and were expected to serve it for their yearly family gatherings until the next Amidala grew old enough to take over the trade. There was no written recipe, and it was considered shameful to ask for reminders on the ingredients, so she’d simply never let herself forget. 

“And you’ve been busy,” he nodded, crossing his arms. He’d taken off the outer layers of his armor, folded it neatly on the offensive glass table he’d woken up to, before he lay down. It felt better without all of it on, a little easier to breathe. When he reached over to dip his finger in the frosting bowl, she smacked it away. 

“I told my team that I wasn’t feeling well and that I wouldn’t be coming in today,” she said, using a metal spoon to fill the piping bag. He’d told her a million times that there were machines made specifically to perfectly fill pastries like these, and that they weren’t even that expensive, but she’d always preferred doing it by hand. “I figured it would be better than if you woke up and I was gone, too.”

Anakin couldn’t tell if that stung or pulled on his heartstrings, and decided to settle for  _ not going to worry about that right now. _ As he watched her work, carefully squeezing on the piping bag, he couldn’t help but notice that the ring he’d felt earlier was no longer on her finger. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear the same dress for so long,” he commented lightly. How were you supposed to casually bring up that you wanted to talk about what had happened in the years that you’d apparently missed?

“I almost went in to get a change of clothes but I heard you snoring and I didn’t want to wake you.” 

“I don’t  _ snore,” _ Anakin laughed. At least this felt normal. Or, at least, not crazy enough to make him want to pass out. 

“As someone who used to sleep next to you almost every night, yes you do. Like a shuttle taking off.”

_ Used to. _ The two words were enough to pull him out of his brief moment of relaxation. 

“So,” he said, praying he sounded casual and knowing he didn’t as he reached around her and picked up one of the still-warm pastries, “Is there someone else you’re sleeping next to now?”

She halted immediately. Because Anakin was still adjusting to finding out that he was years behind, he still hadn’t managed to fully tap back into the Force, but he could feel the frigidness coming off her in droves. She’d been dreading this question too. 

“Ani-” 

“I just noticed the ring,” he shrugged and took a bite of the sweet. It was as good as the last one she’d given him, which was, apparently, several years ago. 

“Anakin,” she set down the piping bag, “you know I never stopped loving you. I know you know that,” She looked so sad. He didn’t even know if he was mad at her or not, “We thought you were dead. I couldn’t even  _ mourn _ you, not any more than any other Jedi. It was so hard, for so long.”

He fought the urge to go to her, to wrap his arms around her and comfort her like he would any other day. Something told him that was the last thing she wanted. 

“At least tell me it’s not Clovis,” he sighed, finishing the blossom bread, trying to do whatever he could to lighten the mood. 

When she was silent for  _ far _ too long, he almost kicked something. 

“ _ Clovis?”  _ He exclaimed, turning to walk away in an effort to catch his breath, “that bastard was your rebound and now you're  _ married?” _

“Engaged!” she yelled back, and was it sad that it only made him love her more? So many people only ever saw the mild-mannered diplomat and the glittering hostess. Very few were ever so close to see that underneath Padme’s seemingly infinite patience, she had a temper just like Anakin, a fire that matched and complimented his so well. He knew how to start fights, sure, but  _ oh _ could Padme finish them. 

“He  _ proposed _ as a way to form an allegiance between the Banking Clan and my committee, which would help fund all of my projects and grants for  _ years. _ It’s a political move, Anakin!”

“So marriage is political for you now?” He asked, picking a fight he knew he was about to lose. She’d always been far better at debating than him. Yet he couldn’t stop himself. He was angry, maybe not exactly at her, but she was standing there, a symbol of all the things that had gone so wrong so quickly, and he just couldn’t make himself back down. “Or did you already forget that we exchanged vows and promised that it would always be us before everyone else? I thought that sort of thing  _ meant _ something to you, Padme.”

If she was frigid before, she was a live wire now. 

“Take that back,” she said, and even though she was over a head shorter than he was, they both knew that at the moment she was towering over him. With her calm and intense voice, Anakin felt like one of her opponents she was about to verbally assassinate. 

“Padme I-”

“I’m  _ sorry, _ Anakin,” she cried, but she didn’t look sorry. She looked furious. She looked like she could tear him apart with her bare hands and he’d let her. “I’m sorry that I spent  _ years _ living a lie and pretending I was mourning you from a distance, when in reality I would come back home and cry for hours on end because you weren’t here waiting for me. I spent so long hating myself because the last thing you and I did together was argue because I took Ahsoka with me to see the Bonteris. I didn’t change the sheets on our bed for weeks because I thought if I washed them then the last few traces of you would be gone from our home because you weren’t allowed to leave anything here. I’m  _ sorry _ that I’m not wearing mourning beads or making long public statements about how much I miss you even though if I did you would’ve been retroactively disgraced from the Order and they wouldn’t even have given you a ceremonial pyre to be cremated.” She stepped into his space, her eyes alight, “but don’t you  _ ever _ pretend I could’ve ever stopped loving you.”

With that, she stepped around him and stormed into her bedroom, locking the door behind her. 

* * *

Though Anakin waited outside her door for hours, occasionally begging her to come out or repeating his apologies for the thousandth time only for her to pointedly turn on the ‘fresher and shut the bathroom door too, it wasn’t until the door to the penthouse flew open and another Nabooina, who didn’t look dissimilar to Padme, flew into the home that the bedroom door finally opened. 

Padme had changed into one of her everyday outfits, not quite as flashy as her formal senatorial garb, but still eye-catching and stylish. He stood up from where he’d been seated against the wall, only for her to lift a finger. A clear indication of  _ I’ll deal with you later.  _

“Balle,” Padme sighed, and Anakin only then noticed the blaster she’d been holding, which she effortlessly slid back into the holster that was attached to her belt, “what did I tell you about showing up unannounced?”

“Sorry, it won’t happen again,” the young girl rushed out, a clear sign that it probably would. She gave Anakin a quick once-over then quickly disregarded him. What was with all these people not recognizing him? He was still a war hero! Was he not in textbooks, or at the very least immortalized in statues?

Balle looked like she was about to press on, holding a holopad like she was going to read off it, when Padme quickly cut in.

“I already told everyone I wasn’t coming in today. They can handle themselves for one meeting without me.”

The young girl just shoved the holopad into Padme’s hands, a news article already pulled up on the screen. Over Padme’s shoulder, Anakin could just make out the words  **surprise vote!** and  **Senate to decide** before she handed it back to the eager teenager. 

“They moved up the vote when they knew I was going to be absent?” She arched an unimpressed eyebrow, her frustration from earlier seeping back into her voice.

“I think they moved it up  _ because _ they knew you were going to be absent.” She was a smart kid, or at least good at vocalizing her hunches. Anakin didn’t know how long she would last if she were on her own in the minefield that was politics, but he could see why Padme seemed to have taken her on as an assistant. 

“Tell Senator Organa to not let them go into session before I get there,” Padme said, rubbing her hand across her face, “and tell the Council that I’m going to be a pain in their asses about this.”

“I won’t tell them that last part, but I’ll get in contact with Organa right now,” Balle nodded, her intricately braided hairstyle wobbling on its own time, before she left in a flurry, as quickly as she came. 

“What happened to Sabe?” Anakin asked. Anakin had always had a soft spot in his heart for Padme’s old bodyguard, though he was about 80% sure she didn’t care for him at all. 

“She’s the current Naboo Senator,” Padme hummed, at least willing to talk to him now, breezing past him to reenter to the bedroom, then going into the closet and returning with a pair of expensive-looking shoes.

“She’s the Senator?” He asked, “Then what does that make you?”

She looked at him like she was about to reply on instinct, then thought better of it. “Go get dressed, I’ll call my driver and explain on the way.” When she kept moving and he just remained stationary, watching her go, she turned back and gave him an annoyed look, “you’re coming aren’t you?”

* * *

It felt strange to leave Padme’s penthouse together. Usually, he’d have to depart before dawn on whatever speeder he’d borrowed from the Temple to get there, often while she was still asleep. 

Now he was sitting in her absolutely decked-out transport, complete with plush, heated seats and a mini-bar because this is how the other half lives, apparently, and there’s nothing but the sound of other transports whizzing by and the angry tapping of Padme’s well-manicured nails on her holopad. 

Her driver was an unremarkable man, and Anakin was initially worried about rumors spreading due to them leaving together, but Padme swore he wasn’t a gossip and she’d never been wrong before. Anakin had given him a brief wave in greeting, and Padme had offered him a clipped instruction to take them to the Jedi Temple, but beyond that, he’d remained quiet. 

“I thought we were going to the Senate?” Anakin asked after a tense minute passed and it had become clear that Padme wasn’t going to speak first. 

“We are,” she said as she sent off one last message on her holopad before setting it down on the seat next to her. “Anakin, I really need you to stay calm right now.”

“When am I not calm?”

They both knew that was a rhetorical question that neither of them had time to really pick apart, but she pushed past that. Besides, even if he did get unsettled enough to warrant lashing out, the added collateral of all the passing ships was enough to make him hold it in.  _ Probably why she waited until we were out here, _ he realized. 

She seemed to consider how to break whatever news she was sitting on to him, but he’d never known her to be unprepared. So it was no surprise that, when she did begin speaking, it was quick and to the point. “The Jedi Council are now the overseers of the Senate.”

It took him all of two seconds to decide he didn’t believe her.

“That’s absurd,” he laughed, which came out as a nervous thing, “the Chancellor would never allow that to happen. He’s always been adamant about the separation of the Jedi Order from the government.”

“The Chancellor was overthrown in a coup,” Padme continued, unphased by his disbelief, “after the Jedi discovered that he was a Sith Lord.”

A Sith Lord. 

A  _ Sith Lord? _

_ How long had Anakin been gone? _

“Was Palpatine replaced? How could the Senate have voted some unknown Sith into power?”

“Anakin, Chancellor Palpatine  _ was _ the Sith Lord. He’d been operating right under everybody’s noses since the beginning of the Clone Wars, leading the charge from both sides.” 

Everything she said was so unbelievably incorrect, and yet she said it with such conviction. Anakin couldn’t help but at least consider the possibility. But… No. Of course not. He’d been friends with Chancellor Palpatine,  _ close _ friends. He of all people would have sensed a Sith Lord right next to him. 

“I want to see him,” Anakin said finally, “I want you to take me to see the Chancellor so that I can see for myself.”

This was something Padme clearly hadn’t been expecting, and the surprised look in her eyes quickly turned into one more melancholic. 

“You can’t.”

“What do you mean ‘I can’t’? Where are they holding him?”

“They’re not holding him anywhere, Ani, he’s dead.”

Another punch to the gut, or maybe just directly to the face.  _ Dead? _ How? How could he have-

“When the Jedi found out, several went to confront him, including Masters Fisto and Windu, who tragically fell when he turned on them. The Order was left with no other option, as he resisted arrest, so they were forced to-”

“Jedi don’t do that, though,” Anakin argued. She must just have the wrong information. He would  _ know _ . He was the Jedi, not her, “They must be holding him somewhere. I don’t see how-”

She lay a hand over his, a brave move considering the open roof of the speeder and her alleged engagement with Clovis, but he appreciated it. She always had a way of pulling him back in the best way possible. 

“Anakin, I’m sorry, but I’m telling the truth.”

“Ma’am,” the driver called over his shoulder, speaking for the first time, “we’re approaching the Temple.”

* * *

The Jedi Temple was not how Anakin remembered it. Instead of the proud, serene building that stood silent but strong amongst Coruscant's upper levels, he arrived to what was still the same skeleton of the building, yes, but much more alive. Where the Temple of his memory was occupied by the handful of Jedi it housed, it was now bustling with activity that seemed to come from all walks of life. Masters and Padawans with their robes strode next to representatives from across the galaxy, or even Coruscant natives that were being led on guided tours of the structure. 

Vaguely, Anakin recognized those around him. Jedi he’d trained with or Masters that had taught him when he was still too young to journey with Obi-Wan on the more dangerous missions or Senators he’d met in his time working with Padme or Palpatine. He was so busy taking it all in, this new standard of living at the Temple, that he could barely keep up with Padme, who was marching forward like a storm amongst the crowd. All around her, people parted, and he could hear them whisper with growing curiosity as they watched her and Anakin pass. 

_ I thought she was out sick today- _

_ -hear that the Council moved up the vote and- _

_ -would  _ kill _ for her jacket- _

_ -the guy walking with her? _

_ Could that be- _

_ I thought he died years ago- _

_ -Anakin Skywalker? _

Anakin kept his head down, not eager to make a scene when Padme was clearly on a mission. She walked diligently ahead, not even turning around to make sure Anakin was still following, when she came to a halting stop behind a beige and brown figure who was talking to a small crowd. Demanding his attention, she tapped him on the shoulder as he was in the middle of a sentence, and he turned around. 

Obi-Wan. 

Anakin’s former Master looked different. Older, like Padme, but also much more alive. There was that enthusiastic look in his eye that came whenever he got to put down his lightsaber and play the part of the negotiator instead. 

“Padme,” Obi-Wan smiled a politician's smile, one of practiced width and duration, before turning to fully face her, seemingly unaware of Anakin lingering just behind. “I was just going to send someone over to-”

“You moved up the vote?” She cut him off. Around them, Anakin could see people watching, eager for the next piece of gossip to spread amongst these once sacred halls, “without telling me? Why did you even hire me, then?”

“I just sent word to Balle. Can we do this somewhere else?” He cast a quick glance around as if to prove his point, only to do a double-take when he noticed Anakin standing there, a ghost to the Temple and him.

“Anakin?” was all he said before looking back at Padme to confirm his vision.

“Yeah,” she crossed her arms, “We’ve got a  _ lot _ to talk about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throwback to when I thought I would only just now be putting out chapter 2. Instead, I managed to spit out about ~12,000 words in like 6 days.
> 
> Also, this is the third time I've shifted around what will be happening in each chapter because I got sidetracked with character interactions.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anakin talks to Obi-Wan and Padme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because the question has come up a lot in the comment section:
> 
> Anakin's been missing for roughly 4 1/2 years. Palpatine was overthrown by the Jedi about 3 in, and there was a brief period where the Jedi hadn't fully taken over the Chancellor's role in the Senate.

Much like everything else about the New Coruscant, Obi-Wan’s quarters were not as he remembered. In Anakin’s day, each Jedi was issued an incredibly standard living space consisting of a living room and bedroom that was unadorned and anything but luxurious. While that remained the case, there was the new addition of extra seating in the main room, making it less of a living space and more of a make-shift office. The seats were unremarkable, because of course they were, and the only sign of life in the whole space was the single mug in the kitchen’s sink and the handful of plants that were strategically easy to maintain. 

As his Padawan, Anakin had seen more plants killed by Obi-Wan than people; a startling number considering they were at war. His former Master blamed it half-heartedly on Qui-Gon, who was apparently a compulsive collector of flora from the various planets they’d visited, and had somehow managed to keep them flourishing despite their nomadic circumstances. When he’d died, Obi-Wan had inherited them by default, and was quick to realize that they were much more difficult to keep alive than he could’ve ever anticipated. In the end, only the ones from the most brutal planets had survived, and only because life with Obi-Wan was scantily easier than life on a desert or tundra planet. 

Now, the plants that were tucked away in corners or on shelves, tasteful arrangements of various tokens from other words. It could almost be mistaken for sentimentalism, if Anakin didn’t know that Obi-Wan would never be so vain. This was a political move, an easy way to grant a brief flash of nostalgia to representatives of various planets. Padme had done the same thing whenever she hosted visiting diplomats, trying to make them feel welcome and at home, but also at ease enough to openly discuss things with her. 

Part of him wondered if she’d been the one to suggest it. 

He looked to her, quietly whispering tough commands to her small army of political allies through her commlink, instructing them on how to stall the vote and sway parties to her side. She was incredibly in her element, glowing in the warm light of the Temple. 

“You look well,” Obi-Wan said as he sat down on the chair opposite Anakin, handing him a simple cup filled with one of his many assortments of tea. This had also always been a staple of life in Obi-Wan’s quarters, a hot tea served before any serious matters were discussed. Also an easy way to appeal to a foreign diplomat, Anakin realized. 

“I’ve slept maybe six hours in the past week,” Anakin joked, taking a sip of the drink. Something caffeinated and sweet. The older man  _ had _ always had a gift for picking out just the right blend for whoever he was serving to. “Thank you for stroking my ego, though.”

“I would never,” Obi-Wan returned, but it still fell flat. Much like Padme’s initial shock at his return, his former Master looked like he was talking to a reanimated corpse. Anakin supposed he was, in a way. His eyes stayed trained on the young Jedi, as if he was afraid that if he looked away he would disappear again. 

“I have to ask,” Obi-Wan said, setting his own mug on the table between them, “if you weren’t dead, then where  _ were _ you?”

“Yeah,” Padme said, finally shutting off her comm and coming over to stand behind Obi-Wan, “I’m interested in hearing that, too.”

Anakin felt scrutinized, like he’d been sent to the Council for the millionth time for performing an ‘unsanctioned’ maneuver with the 501st and had to defend his actions despite the positive results. Obi-Wan and Padme alone both provided formidable checks for his more reckless behavior, but when they teamed up it was nothing short of stifling. He wasn’t even guilty of anything, per se, but he still felt the urge to shift uncomfortably in his seat. 

“I really don’t know,” Anakin shrugged, looking down to his mug and where the warmth was seeping into his one feeling hand, “you and Ahsoka left, I fought the Son, and then I left, too. Except apparently one day on Mortis translates into several years. I left the planet, made my way back here, landed at Padme’s, and here I am.”

“Speaking of,” Obi-Wan interrupted, “why  _ did _ you go to Padme’s first? I understand we’ve worked extensively with her, but why not come first to the Jedi Temple? Or, better yet, radio us for help?”

Anakin and Padme didn’t miss a beat. This was a lie they’d told hundreds of times, in hundreds of different variations.  _ His ship had crashed and Padme had happened to be walking by. She’d specially requested him as a bodyguard because he was a known entity to her staff due to their previous work together. It’s not because we’re married and live together and have been lying to everyone for years now. What do you think we are, stupid? _

“I had to lift a ship after my escape pod died,” Anakin said, still solemn over the abandoned corpse of the  _ Evenfall _ left at the port, “and that one couldn’t access the government channels. And then I was denied access to the Temple landing platform because, you know, I’ve apparently been dead for the past few years.”

“And Anakin knows he’s always welcome if he needs a halfway home for the night,” Padme cut in, taking the seat next to Obi-Wan, “same as you, and any other Jedi, of course.”

“I’d hope so,” Obi-Wan nodded, taking another sip of his tea, “for all we pay you it’s nice knowing you at least like us.”

“I never said that,” Padme laughed, though she was clearly kidding. It was strange, seeing the two of them joking around like this. These people represented both of Anakin’s two separate lives that were never supposed to conjoin, now working side by side. So much had changed in what was supposed to have been so little time. 

“What exactly  _ do _ they pay you to do? If you’re not the Naboo Senator anymore, I mean?”

“Padme’s been promoted,” Obi-Wan chimed in, casting a happy look over to her. He looked increasingly unlike himself, so relaxed and giddy. Where the old Obi-Wan was a robed monk of Jedi past, this new form was savvy and political, with a cleaner shave and robes that looked less like armor and more like a suit. 

“I would hardly call it a promotion,” she replied, “nothing’s ever brought me more joy than being the Naboo Senator. But when Obi-Wan asked if I would be the official liaison between the council and the Senate, who was I to say no?”

“The liaison?” Anakin asked. That sounded like a promotion to him. Before, the closest thing that the Council had had as a liaison to the Senate was  _ him. _ Granted, they’d been much less involved than they appeared to be now, but still. The liaison. He would be surprised, but he’d always known that she was capable of anything that was thrown her way. 

“Please,” she rolled her eyes and crossed her legs, getting more comfortable, “he’s making it sound much more glamorous than it is. I’m basically a glorified secretary, charged with going back and forth between pretentious men in robes and other pretentious men in robes. At this point, I can barely tell who’s more self-righteous.”

Anakin should be scandalized. In his memory, the only people who so openly antagonized the Order were Separatists or their sympathizers. Surely never Padme, who’d always had more faith in the Republic than any of them. He would’ve questioned it more if Obi-Wan didn’t let out a soft laugh, which by all accounts was even stranger. If Padme was the champion of democracy, then Obi-Wan was the champion of the Order. He’d always had nothing less than complete faith in the Jedi way so to see him make light of it made Anakin question whether he’d simply been taken to another time or rather to another reality entirely. 

His former Master must have picked up on Anakin’s surprise, because he quickly filled in the blanks. “Because of the readjustment of government order, the Council was required to become a bit more of a public figurehead than it was before. I still have faith in the Jedi, of course, but… I don’t know. Something about the amount of posing and posturing we have to do for the people now feels hollow.”

“Do you remember the photo shoot last month?” Padme laughed, rolling her eyes at the mere thought.

“How could I forget?” Obi-Wan huffed, “The idea of our sacred holocrons and texts being used as props just seems so-”

“Sacrilegious?” Padme asked, a mocking tone in her voice.

“Precisely.”

They both let out another laugh at that, and maybe that was the thing that hit Anakin the hardest. These were still people,  _ his _ people, and he could see the foundations of who they’d been when he’d known them. But now, with years having gone by without him, they’d grown. Developed their own in-jokes, new speech patterns and mannerisms and lives. 

He felt himself grip the mug a little harder, just trying to keep himself grounded in all of the confusion. 

“I thought the Jedi were peacekeepers,” Anakin muttered.

“We are,” was Obi-Wan’s immediate response. So sure of himself. “And that means different things at different times. In the times of the old Masters, it meant a loose band of brethren who found justice wherever they could. Then it meant being generals in a war for democracy. And now it means keeping that democracy and freedom pointed in the right direction.”

They were pretty words. Words that sounded practiced, rehearsed. Anakin didn’t like this new Obi-Wan, who was so self-assured in his duty to oversee the galaxy. 

_ You sound like a Sith _ is what was dancing on the tip of his tongue. A quick jab at this inflated ego that could puncture a hole big enough to send it all crumbling down. But Anakin bit his tongue. He was a man out of time, and there was always the possibility that he simply didn’t understand. The death of the Chancellor  _ would _ create a power vacuum, he supposed. Maybe there was some justification in the fact that the Order would have to take control until things settled down. 

That was assuming this was all temporary, though. Something Obi-Wan had chosen to neglect. When they were at war, it had all seemed so scheduled, like there was an endgame they were rushing towards. Win this fight and then this battle. Train this battalion and take this planet. Secure the system and then this galaxy. Kill this Sith and there will be peace again. 

What was the end goal now? Everything around him seemed stable, so what were they waiting for? A new Chancellor? A chosen cabinet to replace them? Or were the Jedi now some divine force hand-chosen by the universe, worthy of power based on birthright and random power, alone?

Anakin felt sick. He should say something, something to call out the hypocrisy on display in front of him, right? It’s what Obi-Wan would’ve done if the roles were reversed. It’s what Ahsoka would-

Kriff. 

Ahsoka. 

He’d been so absorbed in reacclimating to the universe around him that he hadn’t even paid more than an empty thought to his own Padawan. What would she be, now? If so many years had passed, as they must have, she would probably be a Knight by now. Or, at least, very late in her Padawan training. 

Who had trained her in his absence? How long did they wait before assigning her to a new Master? Knowing Ahsoka, her fierce loyalty that Anakin knew was a reflection of his own, they probably had to drag her kicking and screaming into such a situation. He could almost see her, still begging the Council to let her wait  _ just _ a little longer because she knew he was out there. He didn’t need to ask if this had been the case, he immediately knew it was. 

As all of these thoughts and questions whizzed through Anakin’s head, he heard the two across from him grow quiet. 

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, leaning forward in that invested way he would whenever he suspected something was wrong. “Are you feeling alright?”

That was a dumb question, because between Padme telling him he’d died and sitting there with the tea in his hands Anakin hadn’t once felt anywhere close to  _ alright _ . Now, with his lack of thought of his own student plaguing his mind, though, he definitely felt worse.

“Where’s Ahsoka?” He asked simply, and he could hear how weak it came out. 

When Padme and Obi-Wan just exchanged a knowing but solemn look, he had to press on.

“What happened to her? After you declared me dead? Is she alright?”

“A month or so after you disappeared, when we’d officially determined you to be missing in action, I took her on as my own Padawan,” Obi-Wan said carefully. Anakin was glad. Ahsoka might as well have been his Padawan as long as she’d been Anakin’s, considering that half the stuff he spewed out he’d learned from Obi-Wan. Not to mention that, with all the times he and Obi-Wan got partnered for missions, she’d spent hours upon hours fighting alongside him. It was the best course of events.

“And?” Anakin asked, because he could tell there was more.

“She was Knighted just over a year ago,” Obi-Wan continued, a twinge of pride in his voice mixed with something sadder, “she actually specifically requested it be on the date of your ceremonial cremation, out of honor for your memory.”

Anakin was touched, really, but it wasn’t enough to overpower his curiosity. Because he  _ knew _ that there was more. Knew that there was something they still weren’t  _ telling him. _ What more could he hear that would break him further? He’d already missed the fall of an empire. 

“Anakin-” Padme started when the silence hung too long between the three of them, and Anakin could hear the pity in her voice. He didn’t  _ want _ pity. He wanted the truth.

“Padme, let me,” Obi-Wan requested, holding up a hand. After a moment, she nodded and retreated into her chair. “Anakin, earlier this year Ahsoka was charged with terrorism against the Order. Bombs went off inside the Temple, killing a handful of Jedi and a few civilians. She was found guilty of setting them off, and then killing a witness that could’ve placed her at the scene. Then of colluding with Ventress, who we suspect helped her plant the bombs.”

There was exactly one second where everything stayed perfectly still while Anakin still processed this information. Then all hell broke loose. 

“Are you  _ kidding _ me?” He yelled, standing up. The mug of tea spilled on the floor. If he cared about Obi-Wan’s opinion at the moment, he might have found it in himself to care. He didn’t. “You think  _ Ahsoka  _ would bomb the Temple?”

“Anakin, stop yelling,” Obi-Wan said calmly, though he stood to meet his former student at eye-level. “You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment.”

Anakin wanted to ask if that was  _ really _ the case, or if Obi-Wan just didn’t want passersby to hear fighting coming from inside his quarters. He could do with some ruination right about now. 

“She’s a kid!” He yelled, making a point to raise his voice more, “You said she’d just been made a Knight! What  _ possible _ reasoning would she have to attack the Jedi? Her  _ home? _ ”

“You weren’t here!” Obi-Wan responded, and was it terrible that Anakin was happy to have provoked a heat-fueled response? Little things brought him more joy than getting an emotional reaction out of Obi-Wan. “After we declared you dead, she wasn’t the same. She fought harder, more aggressive. Questioned the Order more, called us cowards for letting you go. She tried so hard to convince us that you were still out there that she forgot herself, her  _ duties, _ along the way!”

“Well I  _ was _ out there,” Anakin hissed, could feel the way the Force was simmering around himself, “Where is she? Or did you kill her because she became inconvenient, too?”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. 

“You can’t see her.”

“I just came back from the dead, Obi-Wan,” Anakin spat, “I feel like I can do a lot of things you didn’t think were possible.”

With that, before giving his Master, the man he respected so much who’d changed without him, the chance to respond, he turned and blew through the door, not even looking back. 

He made it to the end of the corridor before he stopped and actually realized what had just happened. 

Obi-Wan had pulled a lot of shit since Anakin had known him. And, to be fair, Anakin pulled an equal if not greater amount of shit. That was simply their dynamic. Years of working together had made them both that way. And more importantly: they never held it against one another. At least, not any more than a passing comment if the other suggested doing something particularly stupid. 

But Anakin had never had a reason to blow up at him like that. He’d given brief, impassioned speeches that he’d later get reprimanded for, but this felt like something different. Heavier. A new dynamic Anakin wasn’t a fan of.

_ Stupid Mortis and its stupid timeline and it’s stupid overlords. It would’ve been so much better if they’d never been pulled into that nightmare of a planet in the first place.  _

Just as he began to consider returning to Obi-Wan’s quarters and ask for forgiveness, tail tucked between his legs just like when he was nothing more than a young Padawan, he felt a soft presence approaching. 

Looking up, he felt nothing short of euphoria to see Padme making her way towards him. Not only because it was her and she made everything around her better by association, but because he’d felt her in the first place. At least one thing seemed to be getting better. Maybe if he had more emotional crises his ability to tap into the Force would return faster. 

_ That’s the quickest path to the Dark Side, _ Obi-Wan’s voice chided from the back of his head. Even when deserted and shunned, it appeared his Master would always have a way to make things into a teachable moment. 

“So you’re just going to throw a temper tantrum at everyone you talk to?” Padme asked, crossing her arms, lifting an eyebrow, and sitting into her hip. At least this wasn’t Senator Padme or Motherly Padme or Force forbid Pissed-off Padme. This was Smartass Padme, the one who would call him out on his bullshit with one well-worded joke. 

“I apologized to you earlier,” he said despite hanging his head, “several times, actually.”

“Trust me, I heard,” she laughed before letting out a small sigh, “I think Obi-Wan wouldn’t mind hearing one right about now.”

He looked up at her, her soft expression that betrayed nothing but genuine care, and he wished so desperately that he could take her in his arms and hold her. But the public. But the watchful eyes all around them. But the Jedi Code. Butbutbutbut.

So much had changed without him knowing, but somehow the most inconvenient truths remained the same. 

“How could he have said that,” Anakin asked, backing up to lean against the wall behind him. If he couldn’t have Padme to stabilize him, he could at least have something equally solid and strong. “He was talking like it wasn’t Ahsoka.”

“Obi-Wan had to rationalize things in his own way,” Padme said, not affecting the same confident stance she’d previously had, “We all did. I don’t-” She stumbled over her words for a second, a rare sight for her, “I have my doubts about whether or not she would actually bomb the Temple, and I defended her as best I could before the Council and Senate, but there was only so much I could say. They had the evidence, Ani. There was no other suspect. I think…” she shook her head, “I don’t know. I think they’d made up their mind well before giving a final verdict.”

There was something underlying in her words, a sadness. It must’ve been hard, Anakin realized, to build Ahsoka’s defense only for it to fail. Just as much as she’d been Anakin and Obi-Wan’s student, she also learned from Padme. Kriff, the last thing Padme had even done before they’d left for Mortis was smuggle Ahsoka across enemy lines to teach her about politics. She mattered to Padme, too. 

“That’s not  _ fair _ though,” Anakin pressed. The Father’s sword burned from where it hung from his hip. 

“Not a lot of things are,” Padme shifted her weight, “This was still soon after the Council had instituted itself as the replacement for a Chancellor. There was already a lot of uncertainty about everything and Ahsoka was already very outspoken about not wanting the Jedi to take over between the death of Palpatine and that point. It might have just been the most convenient thing. The last thing the Council wanted was a worse public image.”

“So they just… What? Locked her up because they wanted a better public opinion? That’s ridiculous.”

“No,” Padme said, sure of herself once again, “that’s politics.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, and Anakin wanted so badly to yell. To scream. To tear this whole ridiculous new system down from the ground up. He felt like he was having a kriffing heart attack in slow motion. 

Anakin was sick of politics. He’d never liked them in the first place, usually more inclined to forgo an overblown and pompous discussion on the  _ state of things _ and whether or not people should or shouldn’t be allowed to help in favor of rushing in and just doing something about it. It was always just simpler that way. He missed when things were simple. 

A sharp beep cut through the dark cloud that must’ve been hanging around his head, and he glanced over to see Padme checking a holopad before muttering a frustrated  _ something _ under her breath and clicking it off once again. 

“I have to go,” she said, and it was so clear that she didn’t want to. But that was always how it was, wasn’t it? They’d get to be together for only so long before one or the other was called away for their respective duties and they’d have to wait an indeterminable amount of time to repeat the cycle. He’d known what he was getting himself into when he’d exchanged vows with her on Naboo, but that didn’t mean it was any less upsetting every time he had to watch her go. But duty called. It always did. 

“I don’t even know what  _ I _ have to do now,” he laughed. He couldn’t exactly go back to his quarters, which he was sure had been given away to make room for new Younglings. And he didn’t have any credits to rent a room, not that he would have a way to get there in the first place. Honestly, it was a miracle he’d made it this far.

Padme looked like she was mulling something over quickly before she took his hand in hers. He was about to warn her that people might be watching before she slipped something in his hands. 

“I’m sure you’d want to check and see that all the criminals you’ve apprehended are still safely locked away,” she said in her  _ I’m  _ **_lying through my teeth_ ** _ and we both know it but honestly this is the political game I love to play _ voice, and Anakin honestly expected her to wink at some point, “who are being held on floor 5B in cellblock 9 of the High Republic Prison of Coruscant. Of course, you’ll need to schedule a tour because only a high-level key card could get you into such a heavily guarded area and your clearance code has been disabled from all Republic institutions. Oh well, maybe next time.” 

As she started backpedaling, a playful smirk teasing her face, Anakin shot her a look that he hoped conveyed all his love and thanks and gratefulness and also more love. She quickly looked behind herself, checking for any people, before rushing back to him, quickly invading his space and leaning in to whisper into his ear.

“If you bring a wanted criminal into my house I’ll kill you.”

As she backed up again, this time turning around to leave and throwing one quick smile over her shoulder before turning the corner, Anakin felt his heartstrings pull. The same way they always did whenever she surprised him yet again. 

Looking down at the thin metal card that she’d somehow managed to pass off to him without drawing a single look, he no longer felt the frustration and anger that had just been consuming him. Now, there was only a warm sense of love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I had originally planned to combine a bit of what I had planned for last chapter with this + what I have planned for the next chapter, and yet this ended up being the longest chapter so far all by itself. It's about the interactions, I guess!
> 
> (And sorry there was a long break between chapters in comparison to how quickly I put out 1,2, and 3. I've been sucked into the lovely world that is the Cosmonaut Tabletop DnD podcast, as well as started binging AtLA on Netflix.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anakin says hi to Ahsoka.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'll get this chapter out REALLY fast" I said, you know, like a liar.

Walking from the Temple to the prison felt like it took ages. It didn’t, it was actually a quite short walk on the nicer side of town, but for someone like Anakin who was used to fast-paced rushes through the city, who’d grown up living for pod-racing and pod-racing alone, being forced to take it easy was incredibly torturous. 

He could’ve just ‘borrowed’ one of the ships in the Temple’s Hangar, sure, but honestly the last thing he wanted was the weight of another stolen ship on his conscience. Stars know he still hadn’t done anything to reimburse Callah and Kori and Co. for the last one. Plus, and he’d definitely deny it if someone asked, he really didn’t want to make Obi-Wan’s life any more difficult. Yeah, he was  _ wrong _ and was being so very  _ Master Kenobi  _ about it all, but he was still Obi-Wan. Anakin’s mentor. 

Plus, doing things out of spite and emotion was the very thing Anakin was always getting his ear talked off about, and he didn’t want to add something to the list of reasons why people should be mad at him. 

_ Especially _ not when he was about to break into a Republic prison. 

In all honesty, the walk wasn’t even that bad. It was frustrating, sure, having to watch the speeders whip by him without a second look in their rearview mirror, but at least it was nice out. Sunny and warm, even. It’s just that… for every nice thing Anakin noticed, there was something else that would drag down his mood. 

For example, the storefront selling flower arrangements that were decadent and beautiful, at least until he noticed the reflection of a large projection of Master Adi Mundi saying something about fastening seat belts. A projection that should’ve been the Chancellor. 

Or he would note how easy the crowds were to move through, for once. How, unlike the usual roughhousing that was walking down the street of Coruscant, Anakin just felt like he was taking a pleasant stroll. Until he noticed that people were actively getting out of his way. That they saw the lightsaber at his hip and took that to mean he was above them for that one reason.

No, instead of a pleasant walk Anakin was treated to an uncomfortable journey to illegally enter the High Republic Prison of Coruscant. 

_ Not like she’s going anywhere, _ the less helpful voice in the back of Anakin’s head called. That voice was eating popcorn right now, and really enjoying the show. Anakin had always hated that voice. 

As he made his way, giving painfully awkward half-smiles to all the people that stepped out of his path, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being seen. Not just in the passing glance of those around him but in a way where everyone knew he was somewhere he didn’t belong. He’d grown accustomed to infiltrating enemy encampments after years at war, but this was different. Coruscant, these people, these  _ streets _ , were supposed to be his home. 

He would’ve remarked on how he’d wished he’d grabbed a robe before departing the Temple but, well, if he could go back and change the past he wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place, would he?

* * *

_ “Snips, the servodriver,” Anakin called, head still buried in the engine of the ship. Beyond its metal walls, he could hear the holoscreen playing some trashy reality tv show, the type that Ahsoka loved to hate and Anakin hated to love. Last time he’d looked, his Padawan had been laying on the ground with the scrolls she was supposed to be studying laid out abandoned in front of her, the repair tools he’d occasionally ask her to toss his way in a pile to her side.  _

_ When he didn’t hear any movement, he poked his head out from under the hull, giving her a disappointed look. “I said, the  _ servodriver.”

_ “I heard you the first time,” she said, only now moving to grab the little metal tool and throw it to him. He caught it smoothly, but didn’t go back to his work, instead choosing to straighten himself a little more and give his best Obi-Wan impression. Ahsoka didn’t seem to notice.  _

_ “You know, if you’re not going to be studying like you said you were, you could really do with learning how to fix a ship.” _

_ “I already know how to fix a ship,” she smacked the scroll in front of her with the back of her hand, not taking her eyes off the screen. Three twi-leks were sitting by a fire and laughing about something pointless. “They make us read the instruction manuals front to back four times each.”  _

_ “Reading about it,” he said, dipping down to grab the remote and shut off the holoscreen, “and actually learning how to do it are two very different things.” _

_ “I was  _ watching that _ ,” she protested, though she did get up and move over to get a better look at what he was doing. _

_ “I thought you were studying.”  _

_ For a second she opened her mouth as if she was going to respond, but then quickly shut it again, crossing her arms in a defeated manner. Still, she gave a small smirk of acknowledgment that he’d won the round. It had only been a month or so since Ahsoka had crashed into Anakin’s life and become his Padawan, but he was quickly starting to realize that it was not nearly as dreadful as he thought it would be.  _

_ Unlike with Obi-Wan, Anakin and Ahsoka were equally willing to call out each other’s bullshit, a dynamic that probably wasn’t well-suited for traditional Padawan and Master relationships, but they were at war and these were strange times. Whereas Obi-Wan would’ve never tolerated Ahsoka’s lack of focus in the first place, there was something nice about having someone else who was willing to just relax, in Anakin’s opinion. Since he’d joined the Order, he’d been under the watchful and ever-present eye of Master Kenobi, meaning that there was remarkably little time for him to just let his guard down and take a breather. As he’d gotten older and had become a Knight, he’d been given more freedom, but Obi-Wan was still incredibly present, and Anakin had still felt the need to play the part of the Wise Jedi.  _

_ Part of him wondered if Obi-Wan had been in on the plan to assign Anakin a Padawan from the get-go. It wasn’t exactly out of character for him to put on a smile and do something a little sneaky in the name of the Order. Still, if he’d thought that having Ahsoka as a student would keep Anakin dutifully serene, he’d wildly miscalculated.  _

_ He still tried to do what he could to teach Ahsoka, of course, but even over the short time, she’d been his Padawan she’d shown signs of being far more in-line with Anakin’s way of doing things than Obi-Wan’s. The fact that the show she’d been watching was one they would regularly turn on for background noise while sparring was proof enough of that.  _

_ “I don’t see why I need to learn how to do ship repairs,” Ahsoka said after less than a minute of standing still and watching him tighten a bolt, “all modern Jedi Fighters come with an astro-mech that can fix it for me. I’m probably never going to have to be this close to an engine ever again.” _

_ “Yeah?” he raised an eyebrow, not turning away from his work, “what happens if you crash on a planet and your astro-mech breaks? Who’s gonna fix the ship then?” _

_ “Well then teach me how to fix the droid.” _

_ He started to counter, then realized she’d backed him into a corner. Fair enough, she won that one. _

_ “I’m the Master,” he settled on redirecting his argument, “and I’m not going to have a Padawan running around who can’t even restart an engine.” _

_ To her credit, she was quieter for much longer after that. Almost long enough for him to tighten  _ two _ bolts.  _

_ “So did Master Kenobi do this with you when you became a Padawan? Sit you down and force you to watch him tighten bolts until  _ your _ eyes bled?” _

“No,” _ Anakin said, making a point to switch gears to deal with the wiring, “I already knew mechanics when they found me. Probably more than Obi-Wan did, honestly.” _

_ “Okay, Skyguy,” she laughed. It took Anakin a second to piece together that she’d probably never heard someone talk about a Master that way, at least not a Knight. “Didn’t they pick you up super young? Where’d you learn mechanics as a kid?” _

_ Memories of Watto’s shop quickly made themselves known, much to Anakin’s frustration. Flashes of the dry heat and the intense stink of rusted metal and burning wires. Of the people who would pass through and talk down to him or make lewd comments to his mother like they were just other things that were collecting dust on the shelves.  _

_ “I don’t really want to talk about it.” _

_ He didn’t face her, but he could feel Ahsoka staring at him, her wide eyes and the gears turning behind them as she tried to put the puzzle pieces of her Master’s history together. _

_ “Fine,” she lowered her head, finally surrendering to learning the incredibly valuable life skill that would definitely save her skin at some point. “Show me how to fix the stupid ship.” _

* * *

The guards didn’t seem to notice Anakin coming in. Or, at least, they didn’t care. One of the clones posted at the front door actually saluted. Maybe his easy entrance was helped by the calm nature he’d adopted in an effort to look like he belonged. He did his best to mimic the way Obi-Wan would have entered, hands clasped behind his back and giving a simple nod to both men as he passed. How strange, to be a Jedi doing his best impression of what he thought a Jedi was. Though, to be fair, it felt like that was the case most of the time. 

The halls of the High Republic Prison of Coruscant were, amazingly, no different than the last time he’d been inside them. They were still claustrophobic and cold, and that was coming from someone who’d just spent days in an escape pod by himself. Around him, he could hear muffled yells, obscenities, and insults. The lights above were flickering like they hadn’t been changed in months. 

_ When was it that Obi-Wan had said Ahsoka had been sentenced? Earlier this year? That could mean anything. She could’ve been in here for weeks or months. She shouldn’t be in here at all. _

He’d sounded so sure, when he’d told Anakin she’d bombed the Temple. Even Padme hadn’t seemed totally convinced of her innocence. How was it possible that Anakin was the  _ only _ person who could see that Ahsoka would never do something like that? Could never be capable of even trying. She was  _ good _ and  _ trustworthy _ and Anakin’s student. Did Obi-Wan think he could’ve failed in such a way? 

_ She wasn’t the same. She fought harder, more aggressive. Questioned the Order more, called us cowards for letting you go. _

How to explain to Obi-Wan that Ahsoka had simply learned what Anakin had taught her?

As he approached the second entrance, the one that would lead him into the higher security ward, he stopped in front of the control room, separated from the clones on the other side by a plate of transparasteel. Anakin waited patiently for them to give him the go-ahead to enter, which was the procedure that he remembered for these types of visits, and he was suddenly hit with the realization that he couldn’t identify any of the clones behind the desk. Their helmets were painted a stark, uncomfortably uniform white. 

“Afternoon, sir. Swipe your access key and you should be good to go,” the one behind the main monitor said, not even looking up at Anakin. Without taking his eyes off the three men who couldn’t seem to care less about him being there, Anakin swiped Padme’s card through the reader.

After a second, there was a sharp beep, and the laser gate separating him and the rest of the prison shut off. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see it work so smoothly, Padme never disappointed, but still the rush of it all seemed to finally catch up to him. 

“Do you want someone to accompany you, sir?” One of the clones asked, and Anakin couldn’t even tell which one. It was terrifying, the sameness of them all put together. 

“No. I’m fine.”

* * *

Finding floor 5B cell block 9 was not difficult. Anakin had been through the prison many times before, depositing some criminal or another. But there really wasn’t much to find. If the front, mostly public part of the prison hadn’t been updated in months, the more secluded areas hadn’t been changed since before Anakin disappeared. 

As he passed by the cells he tried to pay as little mind as he could to the other prisoners surrounding him, those far more deserving of it than Ahsoka. Men and women who’d done terrible things, attacked innocent people, out of nothing but spite. As he turned a corner, he caught a quick glimpse of a muscular Trandoshan with a chest covered in tattoos. A Pantoran with half her head shaved and a single eye. 

These people would grow old and rot in their cells. They’d probably killed several times, enough to warrant enforced isolation. And Ahsoka, a teenager, was more dangerous than all of them combined. Anakin didn’t want to think about the things she would’ve had to put up with in a place like this. 

He trusted her, knew she was smart. She wouldn’t pick fights. Hopefully she’d keep her head down. After being a Jedi for so many years, there was no doubt that half the people in the prison had seen her working with the Order, if not arrested by her herself. He wanted to believe that the warden would be generous enough to give her some kind of watch, something to make it harder for people with a bone to pick to get to her. He didn’t have enough faith to trust that that was the case, though. 

He reached out as best he could, trying desperately to find which of the hundreds of cells lining the block held her, but he still couldn’t feel anything. The old fashioned way, then.

The people in the cells called out to him as he passed. Curses to the Jedi, renouncements for the Republic, and the occasional beg for mercy. He didn’t pay them any attention. They weren’t the ones he was here for, and for once he wasn’t trying to pick a fight with the criminal underbelly of Coruscant. 

Really, what made him stop was the quiet. As he made his way down the hallway full of taunts and jeers, to pass by one where nobody was making a peep was cause for inspection. When he turned, he could only make out the outline of a body curled on a bed and facing the back wall, illuminated by nothing but the angry red light of the laser cage. But it was enough. He’d spent years as her teacher and friend, he would know her anywhere. 

“Ahsoka!”

If it weren’t for the way she seemed to tense when he called to her, he would’ve assumed she was asleep. Instead, he was left standing there like an idiot, confused why she wouldn’t even turn to face him. 

If he’d been trapped in a small cell for months,  _ he’d _ jump at the very idea of someone coming by. What was wrong with her?

“ _ Ahsoka _ !” He tried again, telling himself that she just hadn’t heard him even though she definitely had. She didn’t tense this time, but she did shuffle a little bit, trying to draw herself further into the corner. 

“Ahsoka, look at me!” She didn’t. 

He glanced at the control panel next to the door, and quickly held up his hand. He’d always been good at this kind of thing, though the circumstances that called for it tended to be more often than he liked. With a quick push through the Force, he saw the wiring beneath the panel, the circuits that connected this and that and told the machine how to work. As easily as if he’d had the access code for the door, the lasers shut off with a soft noise. 

Cautiously, he stepped inside. Even if he knew she’d never attack him, this prison didn’t have the same capabilities as the Citadel, and so they probably had given her an inhibitor chip to cut off the flow of the Force through her body. If his connection with the Force had been forcefully taken from him like that, he didn’t know what he’d do, either. 

“Snips,” he said, and this time it was genuine hurt that colored his voice. Why wouldn’t she just turn around?

“Go away, Anakin,” was all she said. 

That was… Not what he’d expected. Not to sound full of himself, but you’d think the apparent  _ only _ person who’d insisted he was still alive to be more… excited? At least not openly hostile. 

“Ahsoka, what’s going on?” He asked, reaching out to lay a cautious hand on her shoulder. Before he could even make contact, though, she quickly turned. 

“I said go  _ away!” _ and in her movement she flung out her fist as if she was going to hit him. On instinct alone, he reached up and caught her fist with his metal hand and, really, that was when he could see her entire world come crashing down. 

“Master?” was all she said before her fist quickly slipped out of his hand and around his wrist, and she pulled sharply to bring him forward. All of a sudden, her arms were winding around his torso and she was enveloping him in a hug. The tonal whiplash was shocking, to say the least. 

“Yeah,” he said, awkwardly patting her shoulders after he caught up to what had just happened. “Yeah, Snips, it’s me.” 

She was taller now, her montrals reaching above his head, and he had to carefully maneuver when she stepped back to avoid accidentally knocking into them. She looked different. Her face had grown longer and the marks on it had come in more. More than that, though, Obi-Wan had said he’d trained her before she’d been locked up, and it showed. Just standing there, he could see the way she carried herself with more power, more assuredness.

_ She’s older than I am. _

The realization was a hard punch to the gut. This was supposed to be his student, he’d watched her grow from a petulant teenager with an attitude problem into one of the most capable Jedi in the Order, surely one of the ones he’d trust his life to the most. Yet somehow, she’d managed to grow up without him. Just weeks ago he was thinking about how when he Knighted her, they’d be equals. Her, Obi-Wan, and Anakin would be an unmatchable force, and he’d even dared to envision them ending the war together. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen so fast. 

Not without him. 

Padme and Obi-Wan’s change from who he’d known to who he’d just seen was startling, but not unfounded. They both still seemed like themselves,  _ looked _ like themselves. Part of Anakin worried that if he’d just seen this Ahsoka walking down the street he wouldn’t have even thought twice about it. 

“You’re actually here,” she said, and it really sounded like she was talking to herself more than to him. She spoke differently, too. It was raspier, quieter. She probably hadn’t really talked to someone in days, he supposed. 

“Ahsoka, what’s going on?” He asked gently. 

“You-” she looked down, shame or resentment or  _ something _ falling over her gaze, “they said you died. And I told them you hadn’t because I could still  _ feel _ you out there in the Force,  _ see _ you out there, but nobody believed me. And then something happened at the Temple and-” she looked up at him, fear suddenly extremely clear on her face, “what did they tell you?”

“They said there was a bombing at the Temple a while ago,” Anakin said, trying so hard to let her know he was on her side, “they said you did it.”

“I  _ didn’t!” _ She responded, suddenly harsh. Then she looked at him again, saw that he wasn’t accusing her of anything, and grit her teeth. “I didn’t. Someone else did and blamed it on me.”

“Obviously,” he nodded. Part of him wanted to scold her for lashing out so quickly, so against the Jedi way. Part of him understood perfectly, and was mad at the other part for not being more trusting in his student. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, “ _ How _ are you even here at all? The last we saw you, you were on your way to fight the Son and-”

“I beat him,” Anakin interjected, not wanting to see her spiral off on a tangent again. He gestured vaguely to the Father’s sword, still strapped to his back because he didn’t have anywhere better to put it. 

“I know  _ that,”  _ Ahsoka’s brow crinkled, “but why did it take you so long to get back?”

“You… You  _ knew _ that I’d killed the Son?” he pulled back even further. 

“I-” her lips pursed, “after we left I kept… I don’t know… seeing things? These visions. They were all quick and out of order, so it took a while for me to piece together what was going on but I think-  _ no _ , I  _ know _ that it’s what was happening, on Mortis. And they just kept coming, over and over. I couldn’t see anyone else but I  _ knew _ you were fighting someone. Or talking to someone. I just-” she looked down again. “I don’t know. I think it had something to do with the Daughter and the-” her voice caught for a second, “the way you resurrected me.”

“You knew I was out there the whole time,” was all he said, more impressed than anything. Stranger things had happened because of the Force. 

“Not for sure, or anything, but I wasn’t just going to leave it up to chance.”

“So when you saw me standing there just now-”

“It doesn’t matter,” she crossed her arms and  _ there it was. _ She was older and wiser but she was still  _ Snips. _ Still the self-righteous Padawan who liked to question Anakin’s every teaching. What a relief. “You’re here now. I don’t want to talk about it.”

He wanted to tell her that she’d have to, eventually, but contrary to popular belief he did know how to read a room. At least somewhat. So instead of making this a Teachable Moment, he released the thought into the Force. They’d have plenty of time for psychoanalysis later. 

“Ahsoka, what  _ happened? _ ” He asked, matching her position. “Obi-Wan and Padme told me that the Council overthrew Palpatine, but I mean, I was gone for a  _ week _ . And it wouldn’t get this bad just because the Jedi are in charge.”

“You were gone for a lot longer than a week,” she gave a humorless laugh, “and Obi-Wan and Padme have their own biases. They’re the ones who  _ think _ the Jedi should be in charge.”

“You don’t?” He questioned. 

“You do?” She shot back. 

_ No. _ The answer was no, he didn’t. But not with the same visceral opposition that she seemed to have. Granted, she appeared to have a much better reason than him for not trusting the Order at the moment. 

“We’re not suited for politics,” was all he said. As neutral as he could be, given the circumstances. 

“You could say that again,” she laughed, and this time it was more genuine. He wished it would’ve lasted. Instead, he watched as she once again grew morbid. “Why are you here? You said they told you what happened-”

“I’m here to get you out,” he said, amazed there was even another option in her mind. Sure, he didn’t have a plan, but still. “I don’t know how because this place is still a prison and Obi-Wan seemed pretty adamant about you staying here but… I don’t know. Padme might be able to help. I don’t think she’s convinced you’re guilty and maybe if people find out I’m still alive you’ll have more credibility. I just…” he looked down at her, still adjusting to the fact that she was taller than him now, even if it was just because of her montrals, “I had to let you know. I had to tell you I’m alive.”

Before he could do anything, he saw the water that must’ve been welling in her eyes for some time now spill onto her cheeks. Quickly, she brushed it away, looking embarrassed. 

“Sorry, you’re just the first person in a long time who’s believed me about this,” she mumbled. “And, just, you know. All of this. The alive and healthy thing. It’s a lot.”

“Snips,” he put both hands on her shoulders, tried to send as much reaffirmation as he could through the Force, “we’re going to clear your name. I promise. Padme and I will be back as soon as possible.”

She looked up at him, still the same kid who’d stepped off that ship so long ago and forced her way into his life. He’d been so mad about it then, somehow unaware of the fact that she was about to become one of his most important people. 

Taking his hands off her shoulders, taking a step back, it all hurt more than it should. If he was a proper Jedi, he’d be able to tell himself that he’d see her again soon, that the next time he left this cell it would be with her and for good. Still, crossing through the doorway and looking at the panel, he didn’t know how he was supposed to put the wall back up and just leave her all over again. 

“Anakin!” she called before he could even press a button, let alone reach into the Force to pull the laser wall back up. She quirked the corner of her lip up, a smirk that held a thousand other things behind it. “Thanks. For believing me, I mean. I know they probably told you a lot of things so… thanks for still coming. For seeing for yourself, even if you didn’t know for sure.”

He gave her a puzzled look. “It was never a question.” When her eyes narrowed in confusion he explained, “you thought I would ever doubt that about you? There wasn’t a single moment when I thought you could do something like that. I-” he couldn’t even wrap his head around it. It was all so simple, and yet nobody else could see it. “You wouldn’t.”

It took her another moment to process all of that before she came in again for another hug. The strength with which she held him didn’t go unnoticed, but neither did the shudder of her shoulders. 

The last time Ahsoka had given Anakin a hug was on Mortis when he’d told her to leave him. When he’d told her that she’d be safer the further away from him she was. All he’d wanted to do was protect her and all it had done was leave her without her Master and friend. All it had done was cause her to end up imprisoned for a crime she couldn’t ever commit. Looking back over at the control panel, he knew he couldn’t make the same mistake twice. 

“Kriff it,” he grumbled, pushing her back a bit to look her in the eyes, “I’m not abandoning you again. We’re leaving. Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, crazy how they hugged 3 times in 5 chapters. It's almost like this is some kind of... I dunno... self-therapy for something missing from the Clone Wars finale. I wonder what that could've been...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they escape from prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a playlist for this fic.
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2KE4ne2bUS0KL8EgxKxV6z?si=8rAqYbuMQH2BadTDrLgRbw
> 
> The Cult of Dionysus by The Orien Experience, in particular, was inspiring for this chapter.

So there were three ways that they could go about this: 

Option 1) They just leave, guns blazing, and hope for the best. Ahsoka had trained with two of the best Jedi Masters alive and Anakin had just come off killing a god. Except that he hadn’t seen a firefight in a week, and she hadn’t seen one in much longer. Not to mention that, despite his usual ability to tune things out during the heat of battle, a  _ lot _ had happened to him in the past few days so he wasn’t  _ exactly _ in the best mindset to come out swinging. And, yes, he wasn’t exactly known for being the most thorough when it came to planning escapes, but having something more than “hope for the best” seemed ideal in this situation. 

Option 2) They attempt an escape through backdoors, vent systems, or anything else they could find. This would be the go-to method, except that Anakin didn’t know anything about how much they’d upgraded security between the last time he’d looked at the blueprints for the prison and now. And, even if he did, chances were that Ahsoka would be the only one that would actually go through the vents, as she was much better at fitting in smaller areas than he was. Except that she still had an inhibitor chip, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to reach out to her through the Force and let her know if anything went sideways. So, no, splitting up was not a viable choice. 

Option 3) Some good old-fashioned acting. Granted, neither of them were anywhere close to being as good at lying as Obi-Wan, and Anakin in particular was about as subtle as a bantha herd, but it was the best chance they had. They’d have to play it as cool as possible, for as long as possible, and see if they could just get out like that. If not… well. The Jedi did always lean on violence as a last resort. 

“All clear,” Ahsoka said after peeking her head out of the cell. Just because they were willing to lie about what was going on didn’t mean they didn’t want to minimize the number of people they’d have to lie to. Anakin walked up behind her, surprised to see her just standing there, framed by the empty doorway. They’d spent the better part of the past half-hour debating their three options, and somehow she always found a way to train her gaze on that door, again and again. 

He set a reaffirming hand on her shoulder, trying to let her know that he was there without intruding on her contemplation, and seemingly instinctually she put her own hand on top of his, giving him the same affirmation. 

“It’s just surreal, you know?” she said, still looking at the door, “Like, I’ve spent the last few months trying to figure out how I was ever going to get out of here, and then all of a sudden you show up and just decide to do it. Very in-character for you, I guess, but if I’m being honest part of me doesn’t even think this is real.”

“Tell me about it,” he laughed before removing his hand and facing her, adopting a more serious tone. “Snips, no matter what happens, if we get separated or anything, you gotta promise me you’ll just keep going. I can get myself out. I don’t know if I’ll be able to break in for you a second time.”

She gave him that lopsided smile that he’d seen from her so many times as a teenager, and suddenly she was just that much younger, that much more willing to see the good in everything. He’d missed her, and he’d only been gone a fraction of the time in comparison to her. 

“Can’t get rid of me that easy. You’re stuck with me, Skyguy.”

The immediate urge to hold her in a headlock and dig his knuckles into her head was not unnoticed, but that was the sort of thing Obi-Wan would scold both of them for. He’d once caught them kicking each other under the table of a dinner held at a King Alaric’s palace after a particularly fortunate battle, and he hadn’t stopped talking about it for months after. 

It was that sort of behavior that had always kept Anakin from graduating from Knight to Master, he’d been told. Despite his power, his accolades, and his continuous victories on the battlefield, it was always the feeling of being above the Code that held him back from making that final leap in rank. 

_ There is no emotion, there is peace.  _

Why could he not just have both?

The Code would tell him that what he was doing, helping to bust Ahsoka out of prison, even if it was for a crime she didn’t commit, was very much acting out of emotion. And it was  _ definitely _ not causing peace. The honest fact was that they probably wouldn’t make it out without knocking a few heads along the way. 

But still, how could wanting to help Ahsoka ever be a bad thing?

“Where are your sabers?” He asked, absentmindedly tightening the straps of his glove. 

“What?”

“Your sabers?” He quirked a brow, “we’re only going to get one chance at leaving, so we should grab them before we go. Do you know where the evidence locker that they're holding them in is?”

She just avoided his gaze, a darkness seeming to fall over her. Even with the chip blocking her presence from the Force, he could still read her. Still see the turmoil brewing within. 

“They’re gone.”

His hands stilled. 

“What do you mean ‘they’re go-’”

“I  _ mean, _ ” she cut him off, then looked regretful for snapping, “They were mine when I was a Jedi and now I’m not a Jedi so they’re gone.”

It hadn’t even really occurred to him that she’d been formally disbanded from the Order. The idea in it of itself was so ridiculous. She’d grown up in the Temple, been raised by the Masters, been taught the ways of the Jedi since an age even younger than when Anakin had been brought in. Only then did he even notice her Padawan beads were missing, like a final nail in a coffin. 

“Yeah, but they’re somewhere,” he tried, even though he knew it fell flat. 

“No they’re not,” he could see the way her fists clenched, her anger became more evident, “they said that they couldn’t risk someone selling them on the black market. You know how it is. People will pay anything for a lightsaber.”

He did know that. With the number of times he’d misplaced his own saber, he knew the fear of it ending up in the wrong hands better than most. How a weapon that was so sacred and good could also be used so horribly in the wrong hands. If it were anyone else in her position, he would’ve understood. He would’ve backed the Council’s reasoning with vigor. 

But  _ not her. _

This went beyond caution and vigilance. This was cruel and unusual punishment. 

Before he could think any more on the subject, he quickly unclipped the lightsaber hanging from his belt and extended it towards her. 

“Here.”

She looked up at it, then at him, then back at it. She didn’t move to take it. 

“Anakin… I couldn’t.”

“Snips, take the damn saber,” he urged, quickly gesturing to the Father’s sword, still with him. “It doesn’t make any sense for me to have two weapons and you to have none. If things go bad I don’t want you to be helpless.”

Cautiously, she reached out to grab it, running her thumb over the activation button as if reintroducing herself to the layout of her own blades. It was a weird thing, seeing his lightsaber in the hands of someone else, but there was nobody he’d trust more with it. Well, maybe Padme. But that hadn’t exactly worked out great the last time. 

“I haven’t used one of these in months,” she whispered, experimentally tossing it up to reverse it into her usual grip. “I’m probably way out of practice.”

“Stop with the pity party,” he rolled his eyes, still smiling though, “you were always better at one-on-one duels than me.”

“That’s a lie,” she responded quickly, shoving the saber into the pocket of her jumpsuit. Not exactly well-hidden, but it would have to do. 

“I know,” he grinned, “but it made you feel better, didn’t it?”

She smirked up at him, and even with the inhibitor chip and Anakin being a man out of time and all the other thousand reasons why they’d been thrown out of sync, he could feel the appreciation for his relaxed attitude coming off of her. He got the feeling that people hadn’t talked to her like a real person in awhile. Only as a fugitive or a prisoner or the former Padawan of a long-dead Knight. 

“Come on,” he nodded towards the door, “we don’t have all day.”

* * *

To their credit, they almost made it out without a hitch. The handful of guards patrolling the halls didn’t really seem to bat an eye at Anakin and Ahsoka making their way to the exit, especially with them doing their best to conceal the fact that her hands were not, actually, held behind her back by any form of restraints. 

The other prisoners presented a bit more of a problem. Not in a way that mattered, just in a general manifestation of Anakin’s frustration. They’d pass by a cell and some unseen entity would croon  _ where are you going, Little Jedi? _ or  _ so she finally deigns to grace us with her presence  _ or  _ who’s your friend, Little Jedi? Someone here to help you kill another one of the old Masters? _

Anakin wanted to ask her about it, because there was definitely  _ more _ to it, but this wasn’t the time or place. That could wait until after they were out and safe. But it would happen. 

What really gave them trouble, though, was the checkpoint Anakin had crossed through earlier, with the three clones working behind the transparasteel window. As they approached, Ahsoka carefully angled to hide both hands behind her back and Anakin with a hand on her shoulder that he hoped read as forceful, the one closest to their side of the laser gate looked up and quickly bent over to the intercom’s microphone. 

“Sir?”

“Official Jedi business,” Anakin said coolly, trying to put sway into his words though he doubted it would work effectively, “we’re bringing her in for questioning at the Temple.”

“We didn’t get any word about a transfer,” the disembodied voice came from the unmarked helmet, “who requested the removal?”

“It’s not working,” Ahsoka hissed under her breath, and he just barely squeezed her shoulder to let her know  _ I got this, don’t worry. _

“Senator Amidala requested to reopen the case for further inspection,” Anakin said, only to realize his mistake a half-second too late.  _ Not _ a senator anymore.  _ Liaison _ Amidala. Too late now. 

Before the guards could catch his mistake, he quickly thrust his free hand out and watched with satisfaction as the window shattered, sending crystalline shards flying towards the clones and causing them to duck behind the computer monitors. Operating on a level of synchronism that can’t be taught by anything less than years of working together, Ahsoka quickly took the cue and vaulted through the window, Anakin’s lightsaber already ignited by the time she hit the ground. With a fluid movement, she slashed through the monitor and the laser gate shut off with a beep. 

Anakin kept his arm out, reaching into the Force and sending a chair at one of the clones, who crumpled upon impact. He could still see him breathing, though. Good. 

“Snips-”

“I know!” Ahsoka called as she dealt quickly with the second one, the one who Anakin had just been talking to. Despite lacking the speed he remembered her having, she made quick work of him, flipping him over her shoulder with practiced motions and using the butt of the saber’s hilt to knock him unconscious. As she dealt with him, though, Anakin watched the third clone rise and point a heavy-looking blaster at her. 

Anakin only had time to shout a quick “Ahsoka!” before she was facing down the barrel of the blaster, and it felt like the world stopped spinning as he watched the clone’s finger twitch on the trigger. He would not leave her for so long and finally come back, only for her to die here. 

Anakin shifted his foot to prepare to go through the window, too, but Ahsoka disengaged the lightsaber and held out a finger for him to stay where he was. For a second, he debated going through anyway, but if he went back on trusting her judgment now then what was all this for?

“Ahsoka, what are you doing-”

“That’s a Z-6, right?” she asked calmly, gesturing just barely to the weapon still pointed at her, and  _ what was she doing?  _ his head screamed, “you know, for all my time as a Jedi I only ever knew one clone with an incredibly strong inclination to the Z-6 blaster cannon.”

The moment was still tense, still frozen, but Anakin did notice the finger on the trigger relax, even if it was just by a hair. 

“Hevy,” Ahsoka pressed, “please.”

Even with the helmet masking all facial expressions, Anakin could feel him mulling it over. After a second, the gun was lowered and Hevy backed up a few steps. Slowly, he raised a hand to his forehead. A salute. 

“Commander.”

She gave him a sad look, and carefully returned the gesture before bringing her hand down. “Thank you.”

“I hate to break up the moment, but we have to  _ go,” _ Anakin called, and just like that the world started turning at normal speed again. With a curt nod, Ahsoka made her way back through the shattered window, and the two of them left the carnage, headlong into the bright light of Coruscant. 

* * *

When they exited the prison, the two guards that had been posted at the front entrance weren’t there. Anakin didn’t know where they’d gone, but he didn’t feel the strong need to sit around and question it. Better things to do, and all. 

Without a word, the two of them made their way to the nearest maglev train station. Ahsoka let Anakin lead, electing to trail a few feet behind him and enter from the opposite end of the car when it pulled up. As naturally as they could, they met in the middle, holding onto the same pole and trying not to look like they had just escaped the highest security prison on the planet. 

“Where are we going?” She asked, her head bent down as best as it could be without drawing attention. She was still wearing a prisoner’s jumpsuit. They’d need to find a cloak or something. Probably for both of them. 

“I don’t know,” he said candidly, “I didn’t really think that far ahead.”

“Sounds about right,” she said as the doors in front of them slid open and let passengers on and off. 

“We can’t go to the Temple,” he thought aloud, though it felt like he was just stating the obvious. “I would say Obi-Wan might be fine, but I don’t know. He doesn’t seem like the same Master I remember.”

“He’s not,” she said and it came out like acid, “trust me. Not an option.” She shifted to the side to let a Rodian slip by her. “How about Padme?”

“Also not an option.” He glanced over her shoulder, where a police droid had just boarded the train car. “We’re getting off at the next stop.”

She didn’t argue with him. This was the same dynamic they’d take on during a serious mission, a silent agreement to follow each other’s leads. More than that, though, she was calmer than he remembered. Much less deferential. Despite the obvious bad blood between her and Obi-Wan, his influence was still evident. 

Without a word between them, they made their way over to the elevators that would take them to the lower levels. Fewer cops. More danger. Sometimes you had to weigh your pros and cons. That was Obi-Wan’s influence on Anakin. 

He watched in silence as the floor numbers ticked lower and lower and they drew closer to the core of the planet. Nobody else was in the elevator with them, but both of them remained silent. They could talk later. Always later. 

When the doors slid open, they stepped out in unison. The dark streets were a cold contrast from the sunny upper levels, but that was what you exchanged for anonymity. 

There was a street vendor off to the side selling tourist apparel and  _ yes _ Anakin  _ did  _ feel bad when he took some as Ahsoka distracted him but at this point, it was too late to stop. He’d make his apology tour to all the people he’d duped and stolen from when all of this was over, the steadily growing list of destinations not the least bit welcoming. 

“So do you have a plan yet?” Ahsoka asked two blocks later, the obnoxiously campy cloak striped with Coruscant’s planetary colors getting dangerously close to burning his eyes every time he looked at it. At least it wasn’t as bad as the poncho he’d grabbed for himself, which was decorated with little Jedi Order symbols in diagonal patterns. Because subtlety was for babies, apparently. 

“I think.” He said, continuing to flick his eyes this way and that, looking for the slightest hint of someone following them. She didn’t ask where. She just mirrored his behavior and stayed on alert. At least he could rest easy knowing his training hadn’t worn off. 

* * *

They ended up in a small apartment in the corner of a rundown building, long since given up on. The carpeting wasn’t even last season, it was last century. Hopefully, nobody had been here in just as long. 

It was an old Jedi hideout, meant as a home-base for undercover missions if returning to the Temple wasn’t an option. There were a handful of other ones throughout the city, but this was by far the most neglected, from his memory. He’d paused and worried for a second that it would be too obvious, but the second he’d entered his access code in the door and it  _ worked _ he’d let out a breath. If they hadn’t even taken him out of its system, then nobody was coming there any time soon. 

There was very little to the apartment by way of style, but it would have to do. The couch looked like it was missing a cushion and the chairs at the small table didn’t match. Pros and cons. 

“It’s not fancy or anything,” Anakin mused, thinking distantly of Padme’s luxurious penthouse filled with nothing but the highest-end furniture. In this room (because “apartment'' was putting it incredibly nicely) there was a clock hanging on the wall that appeared to be frozen in time. There was a metaphor in there that he didn’t feel like digging for. 

“You won’t hear me complaining,” Ahsoka said as she shrugged off her cloak, lazily tossing it onto the sad wooden table. Anakin followed suit with his poncho, then set out to see if there was anything left in the kitchen that was still edible. Honestly, they could both use a good meal. “This is the first time in months that I’ve been in a room where the doors lock from the inside.”

There was another twinge of sadness in Anakin’s chest as he went through the pantries, shuffling around expired snacks and bottles of spices. Not just because Ahsoka was his Padawan and she’d been wrongfully accused and she’d paid the price for someone else. No, it was because, to him, she wouldn’t have said something like that a week ago. Instead, she would’ve made an off-hand joke about there not being enough sunlight or how all the furniture smelled a little bit like mold, and they’d both laugh about it before Anakin had to lecture her on being grateful for what you were given. 

A week ago, they wouldn’t have even thought to come down here, because they’d have two beds at the Temple waiting for them, where they could just relax and not worry about authorities busting down the door at any given minute to arrest the escaped fugitive and her accomplice. Little things like that. 

He knew he shouldn’t dwell on the past, not when it would do them no good and they had to keep moving forward, but how could he when it was so recent?

“Find anything good?” she asked from where she’d flopped onto the couch, her arms folded beneath her head to act as a pillow. 

“There’s some crelnut that’s three years past its expiration date,” he said, pulling out the soft food and unceremoniously dumping it in the garbage bin before turning back to the pantry, “or there’s a few ration bars that are only a few  _ weeks _ past theirs.”

“I’ll take my chances with the ration bar,” she said and reached out to catch the wrapped bar he tossed to her. After he grabbed one for himself and made his way over to the armchair opposite the couch, he finally let himself breathe. Maybe it wasn’t the nice meal they both deserved, but it was still food. They were together. That had to count for something.

As they sat there, silently devouring the only-just-a-little-expired bars, Anakin couldn’t help but think of all the things he wanted to say. 

_ I’m sorry for making you leave Mortis because I didn’t trust you to keep yourself safe. I was scared after seeing you hurt that it would happen again. I’m sorry that you were wrongfully imprisoned, even though I know you know I already feel bad for it.  _

_ I’m proud of you, for seeing an opportunity where you could’ve killed someone but you chose peace. You chose to tell Hevy that you could still recognize him despite the individuality being stripped. I’m proud of how, even after they turned their back on you, you still are such a shining example of what a Jedi should be. _

_ I’m sorry I wasn’t there to watch the full development myself. I should’ve been the one training you for the past years. I promise that if it had been me, I still would’ve fought for you. It’s not that I trust you because I’m not familiar with this new you, because people can’t change that much. Not with foundations as strong as yours.  _

_ Thank you for never giving up on me. So far, you’re the only one. And I don’t think that it’s just because of visions and connections through the Force. I want to believe it’s because you trust me enough in return.  _

But he didn’t say any of that. 

He couldn’t tell what the exact reason was. Whether it was regret or anger or sadness or any other thing on the ever-growing list of emotions he wasn’t supposed to wallow in but still let himself every single day. 

But, really, maybe he did know the reason. 

That the real thing keeping him from saying all those things that he truly believed was that, in doing so, he’d also have to acknowledge that none of it would’ve been true if he hadn’t disappeared in the first place. That, if he’d just not given into his paranoia of Ahsoka and Obi-Wan getting hurt on Mortis, then they wouldn’t be in this situation at all. Obi-Wan wouldn’t be some distorted version of himself and Padme wouldn’t be engaged to someone else and the Chancellor wouldn’t be dead and, maybe most importantly, Ahsoka wouldn’t have been thrown out of the Jedi Order and locked away. That, in actuality, it was  _ all Anakin’s fault. _

So he remained silent and swallowed his self-pity down whole. Because, believe it or not, Ahsoka had far more problems than Anakin did, so having to deal with all of her own stuff  _ along _ with his self-absorbed issues was not an option. It didn’t matter how much she’d grown and wizened without him. She was still the teenager who had dreams as big as Anakin’s and a desire to prove that she was ready for a war she didn’t start and who’d just died in his fucking arms only a bit over a week ago. Padawan. Snips. She didn’t need his problems on top of her own. 

“Yoda’s tits,” she grumbled, and he only just now noticed the way she was finicking with the metal stub of the inhibitor chip that was lodged firmly in the nape of her neck, hidden by her montrals, “Skyguy, do you think you could get this thing off?”

And that was such a sigh of relief. Because he’d never been good at the emotional stuff, either giving too much or none at all, but with mechanics he’d always excelled. They were one of the things that made sense, like how things fell back to the ground when you threw them and how Padme was incredibly good as sabat. They were never hard to deal with beyond a particularly lively wire and they never made Anakin feel bad the way a person could. 

So, despite his previous difficulty voicing a single thought, it was so, so easy for him to reply to her and say, “It’d be embarrassing if I couldn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels weird posting this fic chapter considering everything going on right now. I'm not a member of the black community, so I can't personally speak from experience, but I can speak on what my friends have told me, on what I've seen in the media regarding the protests, and what people can do to help take a stand and support the people risking not only their health but also their safety in order to create meaningful change in the U.S. 
> 
> I'm not usually one to get political in notes, and I'm sure that it's not what you guys wanted to see in your Clone Wars fanfiction, but I wouldn't feel right putting something out right now without using it as a way to spread awareness for this. Even if you can't donate money or attend a protest in person for familial or health reasons, there are still ways that you can contribute and educate. Keep talking on social media. Spread the images and videos (without showing faces) of protesters. Show that, despite cops taking the knee for a quick photo-op, they'll turn around and tear gas everyone the second the cameras are off. Keep sharing videos of police violating the First Amendment right to Press and Free Speech by attacking first. Share the evidence of bricks "mysteriously" waiting for the protesters when they get there. 
> 
> Remember that, while there are some people who are rioting as a legitimate form of protest, the vast majority of those looting and destroying businesses are coming from out of state with the specific intention to cause chaos. Roughly 80% of those arrested in Minneapolis the first night of the riots were from out of state. Remember that there's recorded evidence of cops destroying property, too. 
> 
> If you're financially able, please donate. The Minnesota Freedom Fund has stated that they do not need more donations at this time, but they have links on their webpage to other places that could really use your support, like Reclaim the Block or Northstar Health Collective, which helps fund supplies for the vital medics that are on the scene at the protests. There are also about 40 bail funds for the protesters across the country who are being incriminated at an alarming rate for "breaking curfew", despite the fact that these curfews are set incredibly last-minute and public transport is not running in order to let them leave. If you don't have the ability to donate, consider watching Zoe Amira's Stream To Donate (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bCgLa25fDHM) which is filled with ads in order to create a high revenue, which she donates in its entirety to the Black Lives Matter movement. In her description, you will also find links to petitions that take less than a minute to sign. 
> 
> Text, call, sign petitions, do anything you can make your voice heard. And ABSOLUTELY vote. 
> 
> Finally, for people who are not members of the black community, do your best to educate yourself through books and media. 13th, directed by Ava DuVernay is a recommendation I see everywhere, and can be streamed on Netflix. I'd personally also recommend Dear White People, also on Netflix, which is a series. Both are excellent and work to help educate through entertainment. 
> 
> Listen to what People of Color say, don't overshadow them in this conversation, and please take a stance. This will be talked about in history books. Make sure you were on the right side. 
> 
> (And if anyone is going to try to argue about peaceful protests vs. riots in the comments, kindly remember that the American Revolution, Boston Tea Party, Civil War, and Stonewall were all violent. Target says it stands with the protesters. Items can be replaced. People can't.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they discuss what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could tell y'all why this one took longer to put out. It just didn't want to cooperate for some reason.

It took Anakin a stupidly long time to realize that she was snoring. For such a small device, the inhibitor chip had some of the most complex wiring he’d ever seen, and it was stubbornly refusing to budge. It was delicate and dangerous work, considering that the wires were so small but also powerful enough to block off use of the Force completely. So, with his concentration entrapped by the little metal knob, the only reason Anakin even noticed that Ahsoka was asleep was because she tried to roll over onto her side. 

After snapping out of his deep focus, he blinked a few times and looked to the little electric clock on the wall, only to find that several hours had passed. And he’d barely made a dent. He’d managed to take the actual metal off of the bolt, but without the proper tools to poke around such a device he was hesitant about messing with the wires too much. If it was powerful enough to sever someone’s entire connection to the Force, who knew what it could do when something broke by accident. 

For a second he contemplated waking up Ahsoka and telling her to straighten up again so he could get a better look at the chip and because he didn’t want her to accidentally move something if she rolled over. But she looked so calm. The edges of her face that had sharpened over the years he’d been gone seemed softer, somehow. So, by reasoning that he probably wouldn’t be able to do anything meaningful without tools anyway, he grabbed the cloak she’d discarded onto the table and laid it over her sleeping form, hoping it made the truly horrendous couch at least that much more comfortable. He figured nothing could outdo the stiff ledges that the prison called beds, but that didn’t mean bare minimum had to be sufficient. 

They deserved nice things, right?

With that thought, Anakin passed through the doors, clicking off the lights and dawning his own poncho on the way out. 

* * *

Growing up a poor kid with an expensive hobby on Tatooine, Anakin had become very good at taking things when people weren’t looking. This habit had absolutely terrified Obi-Wan when he’d first taken on 9-year-old Anakin as his ward. When he was still fresh to the Temple, Anakin had had a habit of not waiting for the cafeteria droids to give him his portions, but would rather rush through the line as quickly as he could, taking whatever he managed to get his hands on as fast as possible. 

This had, apparently, been an early sign of his “issues with impatience” and “headstrong tendencies”. As a nervous kid with a rough childhood, he’d just seen it as a smart move for someone in a room filled with strangers. 

It wasn’t ever a real issue until Obi-Wan noticed things disappearing from his room. 

People had always commended Anakin on his ability to ascend through the ranks of the Jedi at such a young age, but they forgot that Obi-Wan had been forcibly put into the role of Master at an age much younger than the standard. (Still older than when Anakin had gotten a Padawan, but who was counting?)

So it was understandable, at least in retrospect, that even someone as devoted to the Code as Obi-Wan –or maybe  _ especially _ someone as devoted as Obi-Wan– would grow frustrated at not only being an unprepared full-time watcher of a rowdy child who’d grown up in the wildlands of the galaxy, but also someone who couldn’t let him go because of a complicated mix of honor and duty. 

After three days of asking around the Temple to see if anyone knew where his books or plates had mysteriously disappeared to, he’d accidentally stumbled across Anakin in his still unfamiliar room, desperately trying to shove a dish into a cloth sack. Obi-Wan had let out his frustration in the form of a tight yell, demanding to know where Anakin was trying to run off too with his belongings. 

_ “You can’t possibly be quitting this soon, can you?” _

Anakin hadn’t cried, but he’d wanted to. He’d learned early on that tears just meant more yelling, more anger. Instead, he just shook his head as hard as possible, his chin only wobbling just so. 

_ “Then, prey tell, Padawan: why are you putting  _ my _ belongings into a bag?” _

After mumbling his response and then being scolded for mumbling, Anakin explained that he was just trying to pay for his keep, never once making eye contact with his Master. As soon as everything clicked for Obi-Wan, he quickly switched from angery to patient and sympathetic. 

With great care, he’d extracted the sack from Anakin’s hands and taken him to the mats for meditation that were laid on the ground next to Anakin’s bed. He’d explained as softly as he could that Anakin didn’t have to pay for any of it, the food or housing or training. He’d questioned who’d ever given him that impression, and told him that they were lying. 

_ “Watto made us earn our keep. If business was slow that week, then we had to find other ways to pay him.” _

By the time Anakin was finished defending himself, explaining that he was going to try to sell the items he’d swiped in order to have enough credits to cover his living expenses, Obi-Wan no longer looked sympathetic. He looked downright concerned. 

_ “You’ll never once owe the Jedi anything but your loyalty. You belong with us just as the sun belongs in the sky. Just promise me that you won’t take my belongings anymore.” _

Anakin had hugged Obi-Wan after that, a reckless move fueled by nothing but pure emotion, and with caution his Master returned the gesture. He’d given him two quick and awkward pats on the back before prying him off and instructing him to go grab his lightsaber for his lessons with Master Yoda. 

This memory plagued Anakin’s mind as he twitched his hand at his thigh, silently commanding a gonk droid to tip onto its side. He felt bad when he heard it whir in confusion, but that emotion was short-lived when the vendor he’d been eyeing abandoned his stall to go check on the droid. With as much coolness as he could muster, Anakin passed by the display of the stall, quickly swiping the tools he’d already picked out and stuffing them into the pouches hanging at his waist, turning the corner before the vendor was even back at his shop. 

_ They would understand _ was the mantra he repeated to himself over and over to ward off the sense of guilt that crept in at the corners of his mind. Nevermind that the poor vendor was probably just keeping up with his rent in the expensive world of Coruscant real-estate, that Anakin had also once been a poverty-stricken citizen and could empathize with the loss that the would create. 

_ I’m sorry.  _ It wasn’t enough, but it’s what he could give. 

When he got back to the small apartment, two helpings of the best smelling thing he could find at a food stand held midair as he opened the door, he was greeted with the humming edge of his lightsaber leveled with his nose. 

“Sorry,” Ahsoka said, her eyes wide with embarrassment as she lowered the blade, “I still can’t feel anything and I didn’t know when you were coming back. Better safe than sorry, right?”

“I think I’m supposed to be proud of you for that,” Anakin laughed and kicked the door shut behind him, placing the two dishes on the table. Ahsoka let a small smile slip out at his flippantness, following him over to the table and taking a seat. With a thunk, the lightsaber landed on the wooden surface. 

“I can’t believe you left without it,” she chided as she opened the cover to the bowl closest to her, revealing some type of deep-fried creature. When Anakin opened his, there was grain and vegetable soup. Without comment, they traded. “What if someone found you?”

“What if someone found  _ you?”  _ He challenged, tearing off a crusted limb and biting into it. Maybe it was the lack of an actual meal in over 24 hours, but it really had no right to be as good as it was. “ _ You’re  _ the one that broke out of prison. I’m just the accomplice.”

She looked like she was going to argue back, but couldn’t find a good rebuttal. Instead, she just went back to devouring her food. 

* * *

After finishing their meal, neither leaving a drop of soup in the bowl or bite of meat on the bone, they found themselves in the same position as earlier: Anakin perched on the arm of the sofa and Ahsoka with her head bowed as he worked. Though, this time, everything went much quicker. The small repair tools he’d taken weren’t the usual high-caliber he was used to working with at the Temple, but they would do. A servodriver was a servodriver, after all. 

After only a short while, he was snipping the small wire that connected to the base and kept the bolt lodged in her neck. With a soft click, the little device retracted from her skin and fell off with an anticlimactic level of gravitas. At least to Anakin. 

For Ahsoka, though, it looked like the whole world had shifted. 

Before it even hit the ground, she let out a sharp gasp and doubled over, her eyes screwed shut and shoulders shuddering. 

“Snips?” he rushed around the sofa and crouched down next to her, placing a hand on her back and ignoring the way her fists were curled so tight that her nails  _ must _ be drawing blood, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she waved him off, though he didn’t go far, “it’s just been a while. It’s a lot, all at once.”

With hesitance, he backed up to sit on the coffee table. After a second of her not moving, he closed his eyes and reached into the Force, searching for her. 

He didn’t expect to find much, seeing as he’d been out of sync with the rest of the universe, so it wasn’t a shock that he didn’t locate her immediately. After a second pass, though, it began to worry him. In his head, he pulled on every thread he could, trying to access their bond. 

_ It’s not a two-way street, anymore. You have a dead-end where she kept going. _

This in mind, tried again, this time not looking to a bridge linking their two minds, but rather a path linking their two bridges. This turned out to be a much more effective strategy. Suddenly, it all changed from a consuming blackness to a beacon in the dark. 

What he found wasn’t the Padawan he remembered, though. 

Through the Force, people had always had some sort of energy signature. Colors or scents or just feelings. 

Obi-Wan had always been blue, calmness, and exhales. 

Padme was radiant, arched eyebrows, and verbal smackdowns. 

Ahsoka used to be warm planets, thrown objects, and unexpected laughter. 

Now he could read of her was dry lightning and  _ gray. _

He wanted to say something, but couldn’t even fathom how to approach such a topic. It’s not like it was something either of them could control. So instead he just placed his hand back between her shoulder blades, and this time she didn’t wave it off. If he couldn’t have been there then, he could at least be there now. 

* * *

“We have to decide what we’re doing next.” 

Anakin was already beginning to feel caged. Who would’ve known that he’d just be transitioning from one metal box to another?  _ (You were in one for a week. Ahsoka’s been in one for months.) (It’s not a competition, stop acting like it.) _

The minutes had been ticking by slower and slower, and there were only so many times he could go through his forms before he needed to address the rancor in the room. 

“Obviously,” Ahsoka said from where she was seated on the couch. Her eyes remained closed and her hands remained firmly rooted to her knees. She’d told him that during her time in prison, she’d fallen into a routine of two things: exercise and meditation.  _ “Sometimes both at once if I’m in the mood” _ was her exact wording. When he’d asked her how she could possibly have been able to meditate on her connection with the Force with the inhibitor chip on, she’d simply said that even beings who couldn’t access the Force were still connected to it. Obi-Wan’s fingerprints were still all over her new approach, Anakin could see. 

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Anakin shrugged. Eventually, she’d told him that she was fine, she just needed some time to meditate and reattune herself to the Force. She hadn’t said how long it would take or what that even really meant, but he’d given her peace. It’s all he really could. 

At that she did open an eye, only stick her tongue out at him before resettling and returning to her thoughts. “I can multitask.”

“That makes one of us,” he said and shut off his lightsaber. She snorted at that, but didn’t make any other movement. “I think we should go back to Mortis.”

At that she did open her eyes, her jaw clenching just a bit and her brows cinching together. 

“Why?”

It seemed obvious enough to him. “The Father’s still there. Maybe we can ask him for his help-”

“Anakin the last time we went to Mortis both of us  _ died.” _

“Not for long!”

“Five years is a long time!” Clearly frustrated at having to raise her voice, she slouched over a bit and rubbed her hand where the inhibitor chip had been. “Look, even if we did go to Mortis,  _ which we won’t, _ but even if we did: then what? Petition the Father to help us do… something?”

“Fix the timeline,” he interrupted, “If that planet’s powerful enough to send someone five years into the future, maybe it’s powerful enough to go back,” when she didn’t look impressed, he continued, “I mean, think about it.  _ Everything _ could be fixed if I go back. The Council will know to investigate Palpatine, we’ll know ahead of time that someone’s going to frame you for bombing the Temple, and everyone won’t be so weird anymore.”

“What about me?” she asked, “What am I supposed to do? Go with you and create a paradox of two Ahsokas? Or am I supposed to stay here and live as a fugitive while you get to go back and act like nothing ever happened, assuming this timeline will even exist anymore?”

“Well, I-”

“And that’s all with the presumption any of this even works! You know, the last time I saw the Father he wasn’t exactly helpful.”

“Ahsoka-”

“Listen,” her hands were balled into fists on her knees, “all I’m saying is that people have lived lives without you, but they’re messed up. And what you’re describing isn’t going to do anything to help them. You just want to jump ship back to another timeline where there’s nothing like this to worry about.” He could hear the emotion curling into her voice. “You shouldn’t have come back if you were just going to  _ leave again.” _

Anakin was left staring agape at her. They’d both always been brash and willing to talk out of turn, but never like this. And, more importantly, never directed at  _ him. _ This wasn’t just emotional, it was angry. 

“I’m not-” he moved to sit down next to her, “I’m not leaving. I told you I’m never abandoning you again and I meant it. I was just saying we should-” leave. No matter what he said, she was right. He was talking about ditching this universe for one where things were as he remembered them. 

“Okay. You were right,” he conceded, “it’s not fair for me to ruin things and then not fix them. You’re the new-timeline expert here; what should we do?”

She slouched back into the back cushion, pulling her feet up onto the sofa and hugging her knees to her chest. He could feel her brief shock through their bond, surprise at him deferring. Because their usual routine was her giving suggestions but him having the final say. Five years ago, they had been student and teacher. Now they were equals. It was strange to him, too. “I don’t know. I wish we could get some actual politicians involved and-”

“To what?”

She looked at him, confused. 

“What do you mean ‘to what’?”

“Why do we need politicians? What could they possibly accomplish that two seasoned Jedi couldn’t handle?”

“Ex-Jedi,” she corrected, “technically your status was revoked after your funeral ceremony. And, I mean, how else are we supposed to give control of the government back to the Senators, where it belongs?”

That was… a twist. Maybe. Anakin didn’t really know. He didn’t disagree, per se, didn’t think that the Jedi were anything like he remembered them, but… vocalizing it made it sound so much worse. More blasphemous. They were still his people. Well, not  _ technically _ anymore, but still.

“Snips, you’re talking about a coup. A political overthrow-”

“Someone has to!” When she saw how unresponsive he was to that, she released her hold on her legs, leaning forward, “There’s no oversight- nobody to keep them in line. They locked me up without  _ any _ evidence. Not even a fair trial-”

“If there’s one thing the Jedi are, it’s fair.”  _ Trust _ him. He’d know. They would respect the laws of sovereign nations to the point of self-destruction. 

“Maybe before they overthrew the Chancellor, but not anymore,” she frowned, “Anakin, I get that you weren’t here. And I get that it wasn’t your fault. But  _ I was. _ I had a front-row seat to everything that happened when we thought you were dead. I’ve seen the Jedi go from peacekeepers to generals to politicians to… something else. I don’t even know what they are anymore.”

“They’re here to keep balance.” Over and over, he’d been told that. For thirteen  _ years _ that point had been drilled into his head. “Who’s going to be around to protect people from the Sith if there are no Jedi?”

“Do you see any Sith walking around right now?” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “I don’t. I see a hell of a lot of Jedi, though.”

“Ahsoka, you’re talking like a Sith yourself.”

“ _ No, _ ” she bit, “I’m talking like somebody who got thrown out of the Order that basically raised me because I created an image problem. They’re vain.”

“Then they’re not Jedi.”

“Finally!” she laughed, a bitter thing, “Maybe there is some fucking balance after all.”

The concept of Jedi without Sith, an army without an enemy, was so revolutionary to Anakin. Maybe it’s what she’d been getting at the whole time, but only then did it actually sink in for him. He’d  _ never _ known the Jedi without Sith. The first introduction he’d had to them, all those years ago back on Tatooine, was with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan fighting Maul. There were always two sides. 

Over on the little table, still cluttered with the abandoned dishes and the stolen clothes and their weaponry, Anakin felt the blade the Father had gifted him call out. A high pitched ring that caused him to grit his teeth. 

Stars, that  _ planet.  _ Ahsoka had been right, if he ever went back it’d be too soon. 

“I don’t understand why it threw me out here. Now, you know?” He looked over at her, and she clearly did  _ not _ know, “Mortis, I mean. It just seems like such a random time to send me to.”

“Well, you’re the Chosen One, aren’t you?” She wiggled her fingers a bit when she read off the title, an old joke between them. Because what had that ever really meant, anyway? That he could push slightly heavier objects than other Force users? Jump a little bit higher? “Isn’t bringing balance to the Force your who M.O.? Maybe that’s the reason. Maybe it was all very much on purpose.”

The whole Chosen One narrative was never one he’d fully bought into. He liked the sound of it, sure. The idea of being important could make anyone's chest swell with pride that they weren’t supposed to have. But it had never  _ really _ mattered as much as he’d thought it would as a kid. If anything, it had just meant that the Council watched him even closer. 

Again, the blade called out. Maybe just a dissonance over being pulled from the dimension it belonged. He’d had to adjust, he supposed other things needed to as well. 

Looking over to what he was glaring at, Ahsoka furrowed her brow. “How’d you even get that thing? Not a very fun souvenir.”

_ Last time I saw it I died  _ was the unspoken comment that hung heavy. 

“The Father gave it to me,” Anakin said, hollow, “He said he didn’t want a reminder of what had killed his son. That I’d have more use for it then he would.”

In a flash, Ahsoka’s eyes were on him again, wide and intrusive. 

“No-”

“He’s a  _ god, _ Anakin,” she called out, cutting him off “I promise he knows more about the future than anyone-”

“-you were just saying how much we don’t need the Father’s help-”

“-don’t think he would just  _ give _ something to you if he didn’t think it was important-”

“A minute ago you wanted nothing to do with that planet-”

“And I still don’t! I just think that it’s insanely convenient that a thousand-year-old god who knows more about this stuff then anyone  _ happened _ to give you a weapon designed specifically to kill beings made purely of the Force. Don’t you find that at least a  _ little _ strange?”

“ _ Kill _ people, Snips? Are you even hearing yourself? First a coup now assassination?” By this point, he’d gotten up off of the couch and was pacing, “What happened to ‘No emotion, there is peace’?”

She followed him up, and he was still unused to not having to look down to maintain eye contact, “what happened to ‘no ignorance’? There’s something that we can do to make the galaxy better and you’re not even considering it!” She placed her hands firmly on her hips. “If the Force always balances itself out, but there’s only Jedi now, then what do you think happens next?”

Anakin knew what she was going to say, the realization hitting him like a speeder. Still, he stayed silent. Stubborn as usual, as Padme would say with a smile. What would she think of all of this?

“There’s no good without evil, Anakin,” Ahsoka pressed on, “even if they’re supposed to be the good guys, the Jedi are  _ still _ tipping the scales. It’s not balance, despite what they’re claiming. And if the Force always evens itself out, which is  _ does, _ then that means that more Sith will start showing up sooner than later, maybe more than ever. What the Order is doing isn’t fair. It’s reckless and  _ selfish _ and they’re putting people in danger by continuing to grow their numbers.”

He stopped, stared out the little window that didn’t actually offer any light, considering how close they were to the core of the planet. What she said made sense, even if it was a little misguided. He wanted to trust her, he’d just sworn up and down that he’d  _ always _ trust her. But… But this was the Jedi. The Temple had been both of their homes for so long. It wasn’t as easy as she made it seem to just disregard them in such a way. 

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this one, haven’t you, Snips?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it,” she said, and it was less fueled than what she’d said before. Already calming down after their argument. “Anakin, I don’t want to kill people. Obviously. You  _ know  _ that. But if there’s something –anything– we can do to keep more people safe? To keep there from being more Sith running around and hurting innocent people who the Jedi can’t get to in time? Anything’s worth that. Isn’t  _ that _ the Jedi way?”

No, not quite. But not exactly incorrect either. It was- it was a lot to take in, to say the least. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to just take any moment he could to just breathe and settle down. It’s what Obi-Wan would tell him to do.

“Let me think about it.” He walked over, grabbed his poncho and the sword and the lightsaber. It’s not that he didn’t trust her enough to leave the weapons there… but he also couldn’t completely look past the fact that she’d just suggested killing Jedi. Besides, she could access the Force again. She could take care of herself if it came to that. 

Ahsoka didn’t argue with him when he drew on the poncho again, but he could feel her turmoil. More than just him not agreeing with her. He could feel her frustration over not explaining things correctly, not getting across the point that she wanted to make. How she wanted to stop him and try again, not let him leave her, but also that she respected his request enough to not try. The disappointment that, despite how quickly they’d been able to pick up where they’d left off in a mission setting, there was still a disconnect happening between them. 

When he shut the door, even though he hadn’t known when he’d opened it in the first place, Anakin knew where he was going. Back up to where he’d first landed, on the upper crust of Coruscant. He’d ask Padme what to do, and she’d know because she always knew what to say. Always had the answers. 

He could really use someone with straightforward answers, right about now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is your weekly reminder that Ahsoka is a Gray Jedi and I will not back down from that headcanon. 
> 
> (Also because I feel like I've been particularly rude to Obi-Wan for a lot of this fic, I SWEAR we'll be getting the Lore for why he is the way he is next chapter. I was going to try to fit it into this one, but it didn't fit right. It's coming, I promise. I don't have a personal vendetta. We love Ewan in this household and we can't wait for the Obi-Wan show, whenever it actually comes out.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anakin seeks advice from Padme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looked back at the last chapter and realized I let Ahsoka say fuck even though nobody ever says that in Star Wars because they say “kriff”. And then I realized that Anakin didn’t travel five years into the future in Star Wars, either, and also I’m writing this so I can do whatever I want.

If the journey to the lower levels of Coruscant was difficult, the journey back up was near impossible. Not because he got stopped or fights broke out, but because he was alone. Without Ahsoka there by his side as he made his way to the elevators that would take him back to Padme –and with her a world where things made some amount of sense– he felt such a weight in his shoulders.

On top of the already pretty heavy weight, which had been there since he’d landed on Coruscant. 

As he walked, he reached out into the Force, just wanting to brush by Ahsoka and let her know that everything was fine. That he just needed a second. It was more complicated than that, but a Force bond could only be used to convey the shortest of messages, the most simplified of emotions. 

When he found her —the only person he  _ could _ find, really— she replied almost instantly by giving him a calming brush back. 

_ It’s okay. I️ get it.  _

Somehow, that was all it took.

As he stepped into the elevator and the doors began to shut behind him, there was a quickly shouted “wait!” and swiftly he turned around to stick his mechanic arm between the doors, forcing them to slide back open. For a second, just a second, he’d thought it was Ahsoka. He hadn’t wanted her to follow him, but the prospect of her ignoring his intentions was (as usual) a welcome one. 

It wasn’t her. It was a young twi’lek woman who was dragging a young boy behind her who, based on the similarities of their features, Anakin figured was her son. As she slipped into the elevator, she offered him a tight-lipped smile, which he half-heartedly returned. The doors shut behind them, and with it came the sharp silence of an air-tight room.

As they rode up through the levels of Coruscant, Anakin couldn’t help but pick up on the way that she hugged her son closer to her, the way that she kept her eyes carefully trained facing forward. The tension that was radiating off of her in the Force. 

At first, he chalked it up to just a general mistrust of others. He’d grown up around crime bosses and the underbelly of the galaxy. He knew what it was like to not enjoy being left in a room with a stranger. And for a young woman on the lower levels of Coruscant… yeah. He got it. 

But there was something else, something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. 

“Are you a Jedi?” It was an abrupt question, cutting through the silence like a knife. Anakin looked down at the little twi’lek boy, who was staring with fascination at the lightsaber on Anakin’s belt, only just peeking out from under his cloak. Right. That. 

“Nej,” the mother chided, squeezing him again, “don’t be rude-”

“But  _ ma’, _ ” he argued in that high-pitched way kids talked, “He’s got a  _ lightsaber! _ I’ve never seen one up close!” He turned to Anakin again. “Can you turn it on!”

“ _ Nej,” _ she said again before looking up at Anakin, “I’m so sorry about him. You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s fine,” Anakin said, honest and still a bit in shock. He knelt down so that he was level with the boy. “It’s kind of tight in here, so I can’t turn it on. But if you want to come to the Temple sometime, maybe I could show you then.” He looked up at the woman. “Assuming it’s okay with your mom.”

The kid looked up to his mother, eyes wide as saucers, and with a sigh, she reached down to pick him up and settle him on her hip. “Maybe sometime. Assuming your new friend isn’t busy getting overinvolved.” As the words fell out of her mouth, she snapped her jaw shut again, resuming her staring contest with the door. At least she didn’t feel quite as hostile in the Force as she had been. 

As Anakin rose back to his feet, the elevator slowed to a halt, not on his level, and the woman dipped out through the sliding doors. Over her shoulder, the boy was still staring wide-eyed at Anakin, and as the doors slid shut again he heard him call out “I want to be a Jedi when  _ I _ grow up, I think!”

In the silence of the rest of the ride to the upper levels, Anakin couldn’t help but think about how that might as well have been him when Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had first found him on Tatooine. Just a kid who had the most basic understanding of how the galaxy worked, who still thought everything was either wholly good or wholly evil. Maybe, to some degree, he still thought that. His mother, Padme, Qui-Gon. They’d all always seemed so pious, so brimming with light. 

But hadn’t he thought that of the Chancellor? Of Obi-Wan? Hadn’t Qui-Gon had a reputation of questioning the Order? Had Padme not killed, even in self-defense?

Hadn’t he himself disobeyed the Jedi Code to pursue a romantic entanglement, one that he knew could cost both he and Padme their whole livelihoods, for selfishness? Wasn’t that what Obi-Wan had always lauded as a path to the Dark Side?

Maybe Ahsoka was right. Maybe the Jedi weren’t meant to have so much power, both with the Force and in the Senate. Maybe pinning all of this hope and pressure on real people with real emotions and opinions and biases wasn’t fair at all. 

But he thought of the kid, Nej, who’d looked at him with such wonder, who’d seemed so sure in his conviction that Anakin would ignite his saber, the deadliest weapon in the galaxy, and would never even consider turning against them because he was a Jedi. 

_ How would a kid like that react to hearing that the Jedi had been slaughtered by one of their own? _

_ How could you even explain that sort of thing to a child? _

And, maybe most importantly, _ who will they have left to look up to if the Jedi are gone? _

* * *

When Anakin finally arrived at Padme’s building, it was unfamiliar from the last time he’d been. Usually, he’d just borrow a speeder from the Temple and fly it directly to her private landing platform. Without such means of transportation, though, he was left grounded and forced to go through the lobby at the base of the building. The last time he’d been in the bottom floor had been… oh stars, how long ago was it?

It had to have been at least two years ago when he and Obi-Wan had first been assigned to guard her after the assassination attempt. Seven years, he supposed, if he added up all the ones he’d been away for. 

How strange was it, to have been married to someone for a shorter time than they were married to you. It wasn’t like she could have filed any paperwork that would legally end their marriage, since it had been done in secret. Though, you could argue that this meant they’d never  _ really _ been married at all. 

But, oh, yes they had been. She’d once told him that even if they were in some other world where he wasn’t a Jedi and she wasn’t a public figure, she wouldn’t have changed a thing. She’d told him that she’d loved how personal it had been, and that it was never any less real for her because they’d only had Artoo and Threepio as witnesses. (As an afterthought, though, she’d joked that she wouldn’t have minded letting her family know. She’d told Anakin that he and her sister would’ve gotten along so well.)

They’d been so young, back then. Even if, at least in Anakin’s case, it had only been two years, it was still so strange to think back on how different they’d been. Back before the war was real and Anakin was still just a Padawan, nothing had seemed quite as serious. Back then Padme was getting shot at more often than Anakin. 

For the briefest,  _ briefest,  _ moment he was glad that time had pressed forward without him. At least the war was over. At least things were calm, if for all the wrong reasons. This meant that all of his friends weren’t charging headfirst into battle every day, that there was no longer the looming threat of a surprise invasion that could happen at any moment. 

He and Padme had never even had a honeymoon period. Anakin had been promoted so fast after they’d been married. And since then they’d only been able to take brief moments together before one or the other was whisked away to attend to their duties. 

If he was stuck here in the future, at least it could mean that things were finally calm and he could spend more time with her. Maybe they’d be able to visit Naboo together, under the guise of some kind of official business, as they’d always talked about. Maybe this time they could go a whole 24 hours together without one or the other being subject to an assassination attempt. 

“Hello, sir,” the protocol droid stationed in front of the elevators greeted, “might I inquire who you’re here to visit?”

“Liaison Amidala,” he said, the title still feeling foreign on his lips, “I’m here on official Temple business.”

“I’m afraid that Ms. Amidala is out at the moment. Shall I take a message for you?”

_ Of course she was. Things could never be easy for him, could they? _

With a sigh, Anakin tried to let his feelings go to the Force. It didn’t work, per se, but at least he could say that he tried. 

“Yeah, sure. Can you tell her that it’s from-”

“Anakin?” The voice was so distinct behind him, that when he turned around he wasn’t surprised in the slightest to see Padme, her hair knotted on top of her head in one of the extravagant patterns he’d seen her adorn so many times. Through the glass doors that she’d just walked through, the lights of passing speeders and holographic billboards danced across the gold dress she was wearing, making it shimmer with every movement. In the back of his head, he thought of that day in the Naboo fields, in her shining golden dress. So different from now, and yet so similar. 

No, it was not a shock to see Padme at all. 

The man behind her, holding two coats over his arm, though? A different story altogether. 

It’s not Anakin’s fault that, when he locked eyes with that green-eyed, no-good, absolute  _ shithead, _ son of a bantha, he saw nothing but red. 

He knew, he  _ knew, _ that Padme had mentioned they’d become ‘closer’ since Anakin’s alleged death, even though she’d sworn up and down it was nothing but political. That didn’t stop him from boiling at the very thought of them being in a room together. 

“Clovis.” 

It was not kind. It was not formal. There was no better word for the coloring of his voice than unimpressed. 

And, being the absolute  _ sleemo _ that he was, he looked Anakin dead in the eyes, not a hint of recognition, and just said, “sorry, do I know you?”

If he wasn’t a Jedi, if he hadn’t had  _ years _ of training in not letting his emotions dictate his actions, he would’ve dropped everything and punched him square in the jaw. And, even  _ with _ all the training, he was so incredibly close. But Padme, bless her, was quick to pick up on his instincts. 

“Rush,” she said, putting on her best Senator voice, “can you give us a second? Jedi business. You understand.”

He looked between the two of them, then gave a shrug and began making his way to the elevators. “I’ll be up in the penthouse. Don’t take too long, dear.”

_ There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no  _ **_emotion_ ** _ , there is  _ **_peace_ ** _. _

_ Fuck _ peace, Anakin wanted to kick shit. 

The second the elevator doors slid shut, Anakin had his arms crossed and was staring down Padme. 

“What is  _ he _ doing here?”

“What are  _ you _ doing here?” She snapped back, adopting an equally frustrated stance. “You broke her out of  _ prison?” _ This part was said in a harsh whisper, Padme’s eyes flickering to the protocol droid, still stationed behind the desk. 

“How did you hear about that?” He knew that the city would be on alert fast, but this was breakneck speed. He’d figured they’d at least have another few hours to… to do something. He didn’t really know what. To come up with a plan, at least. 

“Believe it or not, Anakin, it’s my  _ job _ to know things like this,” she pinched the bridge of her nose. Just like Obi-Wan. Just like Ahsoka. “What were you  _ thinking? _ You’re back for less than a day and you’re already breaking people out of prison?”

“You gave me the key card to get in!” He replied, matching her whispered tone.

“To see her! I thought you were going to go and tell her you were alive. I didn’t think you were going to break a felon out of jail! That’s a  _ crime _ . It took you 6 hours to become a criminal.”

“She’s not guilty. Padme, you  _ know _ she’s not guilty.” He reached forward to lay a hand on her elbow, and she quickly jerked back, glancing at the protocol droid. He’d always been the more careless one when it came to this sort of thing. 

“I know that, Ani,” she sighed, “but that doesn’t change charges. They’re going to put out a bounty, if they haven’t already. And…” she looks at him, less angry and more worried, “they know that a Jedi was working with her. Nobody’s mentioned your name, thank the stars, but… Obi-Wan probably suspects something.”

“He wouldn’t-”

“I know. He wouldn’t give anyone your name, don’t worry. But he’ll be looking for you two. He’s not stupid.”

Anakin pulled his hand back, sitting into his hip and trying to take it all in. He’d thought coming to see Padme would make all of this easier but it was doing nothing to settle the knot that was forming in his stomach. 

“I don’t know if I trust him anymore,” he sighed, “you heard the way he was talking about Ahsoka; like she was some criminal that belonged in a cell,” when Padme opened her mouth to interject a quick  _ well, technically, _ Anakin cut in again, “you know what I mean.”

She looked down to the floor, thinking and trying to be diplomatic. As usual. “You don’t understand the context of everything. The whole Temple bombing… It was personal for him.”

“Obi-Wan doesn’t do  _ personal,” _ Anakin retorted, a seasoned professional at knowing how neutral his Master could stay. 

“Not like that,” she hugged herself a bit tighter, “it came very quickly after a hostile takeover of the Mandalore system. Tensions were very high. Hundreds were killed.”

_ Mandalore.  _ Anakin had only been once, but he knew what that planet meant to Obi-Wan.  _ Who _ it meant. The Dutchess, who Anakin still couldn’t fathom the worth of. After all, what good was a pacifist during a war? She might as well have sided with the Separatists. But… She’d meant a lot to Obi-Wan. He’d once compared his feelings for her to Anakin’s for Padme. There was no way he could understand how wrong he’d been, but Anakin could sympathize in retrospect. A hostile takeover didn’t leave a lot of survivors from the previous government. Certainly not any as strong-willed as Satine. 

He glanced over to Padme, who didn’t seem to notice him staring. Right. Satine hadn’t just been Obi-Wan’s... Whatever. She had been close with Padme, too. One of the rare politicians who could go toe-to-toe with Padme on political issues and still be invited to tea after. 

Mourning could cloud judgment, Anakin knew that better than most. Things you wouldn’t normally do tended to happen closest to the loss of a loved one. He was almost certain that that was how Obi-Wan and Padme justified letting Ahsoka go to prison for a crime she  _ certainly _ didn’t commit. 

But that wasn’t good enough. Not this time. 

“So… what? Instead of helping Obi-Wan find these escaped convicts, you decided to go out with Clovis to celebrate?” It was a rude comment. One that he knew going in would do nothing to make her more sympathetic to his current situation. But that wasn’t really what he wanted, was it? What he wanted was to get a rise out of her. Make her prove she wasn’t impartial.

It was petty and childish, and she’d tell him as much, but for some reason, he couldn’t find it within himself to feel remorse. 

Her gaze hardened towards him, and she straightened herself in a way that made her feel taller than him, even if she was at least a head shorter. 

“Not that  _ criminals _ need to be privy to my private life, but for your information, I was on my way to end a four-month-long engagement before my night was rudely interrupted.”

She just looked so… So unamused with him at the moment. Her hands were situated on her hips and it wasn’t that her gaze was intense; it was just cold. But he couldn’t blow past what she’d said. 

“You were going to-”

“-To tell him that something had come up and that I’d love to remain close friends.” When he hung his head, he could see the ring missing from her finger. “Because my husband just came back from the dead and I have a lot to deal with because of it.”

Just as fast as the anger had come to him, it washed away again. He shouldn’t have had any doubt in her. He knew that, just like he knew it every other time Clovis ever came into the picture again. But, like always, he’d let his pride do all the thinking for him. 

“I’m an idiot.”

There was a pause before she sighed and slid her slippered foot a bit forward, just so it tapped barely against his. This was another one of the ways they’d developed their personal love language, ways to show affection without keen-eyed viewers catching on. 

“Yes,” she started and he let out a small laugh, “but I’d be upset if I thought I was gone for a week and I came back to find you engaged to someone else.”

“I would never,” he swore without a second of hesitation. He would never,  _ could _ never, love someone even half as much as he loved Padme. He’d told her when they were both still children that he loved her and he’d tell her every day after if he could. When she looked at him with an arched eyebrow, though, he quickly added. “But I see what you mean.”

She looked down at the ground, letting out a hard sound of exhaustion, then rubbed a hand over her face. “Is that why you came here? To remind me that you’re an idiot?”

_ Yes, _ he thought, because didn’t that just sum up his whole predicament? 

But what else could he say?  _ We’re contemplating our own hostile takeover of the people you work for? Just wanted your two-sense? _

Maybe this had been a mistake. 

“Ani,” she mumbled, tapping his foot again, “you know you can talk to me.”

If he could just melt into a puddle he would. Every time. Always. 

How was it that her continued love and kindness could still surprise him, even so many years later?

“Ahsoka and I were talking,” he whispered. He wanted to hug her so badly, damn the onlookers. “She was talking about the Jedi and… and all this stuff about the Force and balance and-”

“You’re not making any sense,” Padme said, but her face showed it all. She knew what he was getting at. 

“She was talking about some kind of coup.”

For a second, Padme just looked at him. Then with a cough and a brush of some invisible dust off her dress, she said, “as an employee of the Republic I can’t exactly be seen talking about this sort of thing publicly.” She looked over her shoulder at the droid. “You never know who could be listening.”

And they couldn’t just go up to the penthouse; not with Clovis there unaware that he was about to be kicked to the curb. 

Oh, what Anakin would give to be there to watch that happen. 

Priorities. Focus. 

“Padme, I don’t know what to do. I’ve been gone for so long, I don’t even think I fully understand things. I just…” he reached out and grasped her hand, careful to keep it low and hidden, “I don’t know what to do.”

With warmth, she rubbed a thumb over his knuckles. With a sad smile, she reached up to brush his hair out of his eyes. “You’ll do what is right. You always do. No matter what anyone tells you, if your gut says something is good or not you’ll trust it.” She squeezed his hand quickly before stepping back. “But for right now I think you and Ahsoka should get off Coruscant.”

He was about to argue at the abrupt change in conversation, but she threw something to him and he only had a second to think and catch it. A commlink. One she must’ve produced from some hidden pocket, where she probably also hid a blaster, credits, and whatever else she’d deem necessary. 

“Even if your name stays out of it, the Senate won’t sit idly by and let a former Jedi they think is responsible for an act of domestic terrorism run around. If they haven’t already, they’ll tighten their control of the airways so that nothing gets out without their knowledge. You two have to leave now.”

Instinct, and instinct only, made him step forward and crowd her space a bit more. “Come with us.”

The look on her face was truly, deeply pained. And when she put her hands on his chest to push him back a few steps, it was gentle. 

“Ani, you know I can’t do that.”

He did. He always had. It didn’t mean he wasn’t disappointed when she confirmed it. 

“If I’m here, that means that I can tell you what’s going on. I’ll be more helpful down here.” Her eyes shut, and for just a second he could feel her picturing some other time where she would go with them. She smiled, though it was sad. “I want to. I do. But I have responsibilities.”

He covered her hands with his, then slowly took them off his chest. People could be watching, after all. “I know. I just wanted to ask.”

She backed up a few steps, each click of her heel landing like a blaster shot. 

“I have to go, you know,” she gestured vaguely behind her to the elevator, “deal with that. I’ll call you later. Promise me you guys will be smart about this.”

He couldn’t really, but for her, he would try. He’d always try for her. 

_ I love you, _ he mouthed, and she mouthed it back in return before fully turning away from him. 

He knew that she was walking upstairs to go break Rush Clovis’ heart, and Anakin would never feel sympathy for him. But when those elevator doors shut behind her, taking her away from him yet again, maybe he did understand. 

* * *

When he arrived back on the lower levels, he walked around the block about four times before he finally decided to return to the hideout. When he opened the door, Ahsoka didn’t hold a weapon to his head. She didn’t even seem surprised that he was back. 

She just looked worried. 

Wasn’t he supposed to be the one worrying over her? Making sure she stayed on the straight-and-true path of the Jedi? He was tired of people getting worried for his sake. 

“You weren’t gone that long,” she said, standing up and cycling through three different positions before finally settling her hands on her hips. 

“I just needed to clear my head,” he said as he flipped the lock of the door, then tossed the commlink to her. She caught it in one hand without even blinking. “I went to see Padme. She said we need to get off the planet.”

The two of them had never talked about Anakin and Padme’s relationship, mostly under the pretense that Anakin was better at keeping it a secret than he actually was. But despite neither of them ever verbalizing the relationship, Anakin had always suspected Ahsoka knew and that she was just keeping quiet out of loyalty. 

What followed was routine. Muscle memory from years of working as Master and Padawan on hundreds of missions. Ahsoka wanted to say more, he could  _ feel _ how harshly she was biting her tongue, but in the end, she just gave him a frown and turned to start gathering what little things they had with them. 

Out of hope more than knowledge, Anakin walked over to the little dresser underneath the holoscreen, which Ahsoka must’ve turned on between when he’d left and come back. It was humming a quiet trickle of news, though from what he could hear it had nothing to do with them. Yet. Silver linings. 

He could feel her eyes on his back when he bent down to open the drawer. Her presence screamed  _ I want to talk but I won’t make the first move.  _

“Well don’t just stare at me like a wounded tooka.” 

This was an exaggeration, of course. Anakin had learned the hard way that you should  _ never _ turn your back on a wounded tooka. He at least felt comfortable turning his back on Ahsoka. 

She laughed a bit at his comment, the air between them clearing just like that. Though he was still opening and closing drawers of the dresser –some entirely empty, some with scattered items like decade-old commlinks or long-broken blasters– he heard her sit down on the coffee table, felt her nerves dissipate at least a bit. 

“I didn’t mean I wanted to murder all the Jedi,” she said eventually. It sounded clunky and awkward, but genuine. 

“I figured.”

“You’ve got a hell of a way of showing it,” she snapped, and it seemed to be on instinct. Then he felt her calm back down again.

_ Still her Master’s Padawan, _ Anakin thought with a smile. 

“Look,” she started again, “I just got thrown in jail after being wrongfully accused of killing Jedi.  _ Believe me _ when I say that I don’t want to prove them right. I just… I believe in this, Anakin. If there was another way, I’d love to hear about it. But for now, this is what we’ve got.”

Finally, he opened a larger drawer and found what he’d been searching for. After reaching in to retrieve the prize, he turned around and held them out, presenting them to Ahsoka like a peace offering. 

The Jedi Knight robes were outdated, in the kindest terms. They’d clearly been put into circulation before the Clone Wars, as they weren’t outfitted with the sturdier, armor-like material that he was wearing, nor did they resemble the senatorial-like garb he’d seen at the Temple. 

Still. They were something. 

Hesitantly, she took them, placing them in her lap as if she had no intention of actually dawning them. They weren’t her usual colors, he noted with a frown. She’d always been partial to maroons and dark browns, and instead what he’d found was a gray and blue set. 

“Figured you couldn’t go walking around in prison clothes,” he shrugged. But it was more than that. It was  _ I know you’re still one of them, even if they threw you out.  _ It was  _ I know you were already Knighted, and I want to show you that I’m sorry I wasn’t the one to perform the ceremony myself.  _

“Thanks,” she said, her voice small and happy. 

In an effort to break the quiet, he picked up one of the couch cushions with the Force and gently lobbed it at her, not giving her time to duck. “Now go get changed. We have to get out of here fast. We can talk about next steps on whatever shuttle we end up jacking.”

With a lopsided grin, she moved quickly to the small ‘fresher and shut the door behind her. Anakin took a second to breathe, before grabbing the remote for the holoscreen from the table and turning to shut it off. Just as he was about to click off the power, though, he read the headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen. 

**TERROR AT THE TEMPLE! Second bombing of Jedi Temple just reported, following the escape of the original bomber. Escapee Ahsoka Tano is the prime suspect for this identical crime, and is wanted dead or alive. Tano is an ex-Jedi and should be treated as highly dangerous. Exude caution!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I️ know it took a bit longer than usual to get this chapter out. I'm sorry y'all. For some reason, this one was particularly difficult. I️ hope the extra ~800 words make it up to y'all. 
> 
> Some good news though! I️ submitted an application to be a writer on Found: A Clone Wars Charity Zine awhile ago, and I️ just heard back that I've been accepted! I'm collaboration with an artist to write an original, illustrated piece about Padme and Ahsoka. It's my first zine and it comes out in October! All the profits will be going to charity, and I️ really hope you guys will consider checking it out! There's around 80 artists, 4 writers, and a handful of chefs creating recipes! I'm really excited!!
> 
> (Also, on an unrelated note, I️ finally bit the bullet and made a Star Wars sideblog on Tumblr with an utterly incoherent tagging system. Feel free to come say hi at @sw-the-clown-wars !)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ahsoka asks an old friend for help.

In theory, Anakin could hear what the holoscreen was saying. But it was in the way that you could hear what someone was saying when you were underwater. He understood that they were talking, and he  _ kind of _ understood what they were saying, but it was garbled and distant and not anywhere close to the forefront of his mind. 

**Prime suspect – dead or alive – exude caution!**

For a second he wondered if this was how Obi-Wan had felt when the news had broken to him that Ahsoka was the suspect. This swelling panic and inability to feel the floor beneath him. Had Obi-Wan felt this shortness of breath? 

_ No, _ Anakin realized. Because this wasn’t the same at all. Anakin had something that Obi-Wan hadn’t had: unwavering faith in his Padawan, and undeniable proof that it couldn’t have been Ahsoka, who’d been either with him or in this apartment ever since they’d escaped the prison. 

What Anakin was going through wasn’t what Obi-Wan had been through because  _ Obi-Wan _ would’ve been confronted with the fear that maybe his apprentice had betrayed him, that maybe he’d lost another one. Anakin, on the other hand, was feeling nothing but the panic of knowing that this was about to make both of their lives infinitely more difficult. 

“They’re a little big, but beggars can’t be choosers-” Ahsoka said as she came back into the main room, tugging a bit at the sleeves she’d rolled up to her forearms. But when she saw Anakin staring blankly at the holoscreen, she quieted instantly. 

He didn’t move his eyes, but he could feel her turning to see what he was looking at, could feel the way her spirits that had finally been lifted fell once again. 

“We’re never going to get off the planet,” was all he said, the crushing realization beginning to seep in. 

When he turned to face her, she didn’t look shattered. She didn’t look half as affected as he felt. She was the perfect exterior of a calm, collected Jedi in the face of a trial. But he could  _ feel. _ He felt the way her mind raced at the new addendum, the way that she was angry and upset and rightfully so. 

But, to her credit, she didn’t let it show. 

All she did was press her mouth into a sharp line and look at the holoscreen. 

“Snips-”

“We’re getting off the planet.” She had such a strong conviction behind her words, that Anakin found it hard to not believe her. Still…

“If they weren’t on high alert before, they’re definitely going to be now. I doubt we’d even make it to a ship, let alone out of the atmosphere.”

She took another second to think, seemingly debating something with herself, before finally settling on an outcome with a sigh. 

“No. It’s fine. I know someone who can help.”

* * *

“I was thinking,” Ahsoka said, her head bent to keep her hood as low as possible over her face. They’d made it several blocks, taking way longer because they’d decided that avoiding the trains was the right move, and this was the first time either of them had spoken since they’d left the hideout. She didn’t tell him where they were going, only that  _ he wasn’t going to like it, _ “I’m not much help right now.”

Well, wasn’t that just the most obvious red flag ever flown?

“Ahsoka, I’m not leaving you,” he whispered harshly. Because he  _ knew  _ this song and dance. This ‘oh, they’re coming for me so you have to leave me behind to keep yourself safe’. It  _ never _ worked. He would know. Him pushing Ahsoka and Obi-Wan to leave him behind on Mortis was the very reason they were in this whole mess in the first place. 

“It’s not like that,” she quickly cut in, and relief flooded his mind, “I just mean… you can’t just keep leaving weapons behind every time we separate. And I don’t want to be some liability because I don’t have a real way to defend myself.”

He looked over at her, and she was keeping her eyes firmly on the ground, but not to avoid detection. This was nerves. 

“I want to go to Ilum.”

It… it wasn’t what he expected to hear. But it also wasn’t unwelcome. 

“You want to make another saber?”

“They took my old ones!” she started, aggression fueling her retort before she took a calming breath. A pattern he’d begun noticing. “I’m not getting them back. If I’m staying with you –and I  _ am _ staying with you– then I’m not going to be the reason something goes sideways.”

It wasn’t something he could dissuade her from, he knew that. He knew the feeling of being helpless in a situation where you know you could be doing more, could be helping more people. He wasn’t going to force that.

“Once we get off-planet.”

She nodded once at him, the Serious Jedi persona coming over her once more like the dawning of a mask, before looking up at the towering apartment building they were coming up to. 

“We’re here.”

The one that they’d stayed at was run down, yes, but in the small and abandoned way of a barely-started project. This one was run down in the sense that it loomed over the block, yet the doors were all just a  _ little  _ beat up, the floor but a  _ bit _ too sticky to be unnoticeable, and the lights flickered a  _ tad _ too much to see everything properly. He couldn’t even fathom who they were going to meet. 

Ahsoka led them through the twisting hallways, past doors that couldn’t mask obvious grunts and yells and things breaking, or even more sinister: the doors that were completely silent. She led them through hall after hall, before finally coming up on a seemingly unremarkable entrance, where she knocked twice before pulling her hand back. 

“Let me do all the talking,” was all she managed to whisper before the door slid open. 

Anakin didn’t know what he’d been expecting. Maybe some old contact that she’d helped ages ago. Maybe someone who worked high up in the government and had connections. Maybe just about anyone who wasn’t a literal Sith. 

“What do you want, Little Jedi?” 

Asajj Ventress looked different than the last time he’d seen her. Her hair had grown out, she wasn’t dressing like a Sith anymore, and –most importantly– she wasn’t pointing a lightsaber at his throat. But that didn’t mean that she hadn’t pointed a lightsaber at his throat  _ before _ .

Instantly, his hand reached out to grab his saber, to turn it on and solve the problem before it came difficult. Just as quickly, though, Ahsoka reached her own hand out and laid it over his, a silent plea to wait and let her take the lead.

“Ventress,” she smiled, full of insincerity, “can’t I just want to swing by and say hello to an old friend?”

“We’re not  _ friends, _ ” the Dathomerian sneered, before taking a look at Anakin. It took her a second to put the pieces together, but as soon as the realization came over her face she took a step back. “So, you finally found him. Was he really stuck on some magical disappearing planet, or did he just leave?”

Anakin was about to interject, ask why she was talking about him like he wasn’t there, when Ahsoka elbowed him in the ribs. When he looked over to ask her why the kriff she’d do that, she just gave him another look that said  _ shut. Up.  _

“I need your help,” was all Ahsoka said. Plain and simple. Then, in a more defeated tone, “again.”

Ventress looked the two of them up and down, a smug smirk tugging at her lips as she crossed her arms and leaned against her door frame. “I heard. Seems you’ve been busy on your day off, Little Jedi.”

_ Little Jedi.  _ He’d heard the title before. Where had he heard it?

Ventress didn’t seem to care for his contemplation. She happily pushed through the conversation, taking advantage of his quiet. “And I suppose he helped you escape? I guess the Old Masters can be useful, after all.”

_ Old Masters. _ That was it. Back in the prison, as he’d been leading her through the halls, that’s what the other inmates had called Ahsoka.  _ Little Jedi.  _ Patronizing and cruel. Of course Ventress had something to do with it. 

“Ventress _ ,” _ Ahsoka tried, “ _ please. _ I wouldn’t come if there was another option.”

_ Why was this even a last resort? _

Ventress just looked her over once more, before finally pushing off the door frame with a sigh and retreating into her apartment, the door remaining open for them to follow. “You’re lucky it’s been a slow month. I’ll be getting paid this time, I assume?”

“Yes,” Ahsoka answered as they came into the cramped living room. It wasn’t quite as small as the base they’d been staying at, but it wasn’t much bigger. The decorations were minimal, but not absent. A handful of items littered the shelves, making the space appear lived in. Things hanging on the wall, appendages or masks or miscellaneous pieces of armor. Battle prizes. 

“We need to get to a ship,” Anakin finally spoke, still looking at all of the details in the room. Somehow knowing that she still needed a place to eat, sleep, and live made her more humane. Not by a lot… but still. “Do you have one?”

She arched a brow, “I have a contact, but they don’t come cheap. Are you sure that a fugitive and a dead man really have that kind of money?”

_ No, but they needed to get off the planet more than they needed to not fight with Ventress. Worst comes to worst, they’d fought her before and lived to tell the tale.  _

“Yes.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she also looked just a bit desperate. If she wasn’t with the Sith anymore… Well, rent on Coruscant didn’t come cheap. 

“Let me get some of my things, then we’ll go. I’d rather get you out of my hair as soon as I can.”

_ That makes two of us, _ he thought as she disappeared into another room, shutting the door behind her. 

When he turned to Ahsoka, she was already looking at him, bracing for his lecture.  _ Stars, when did he become so much like Obi-Wan? _

“We’re asking Ventress for help?”

“She’s helping us, isn’t she?” Ahsoka snapped quickly, and Anakin could feel the defensiveness pulsating off of her. It wasn’t just the stress of everything that had brought them to this point, there was something specific and pointed about this frustration. 

“Snips, what if she just turns the both of us over to the authorities? I’m sure there’s a bounty on your head.”

She folded her arms over her chest, looked down at the floor, “You weren’t here. Of all people, she was the one that helped me try to clear my name when the Jedi turned on me.  _ She _ let me stay here and went with me to investigate all the leads I could find.” Anakin was sure he looked unconvinced because she went on, “Dooku abandoned her; tried to have her killed. She had to go on the run without a friend or a Master to turn to,” she looked up at him, “as much as I hate to admit it… she and I aren’t that dissimilar.”

Anakin didn’t like the thought of that; that his Padawan was in any way similar to Count Dooku’s apprentice. The thought that his absence had driven her to look to Ventress for help… it didn’t sit right with him. He couldn’t change the past, but if he’d  _ been _ there it could’ve been different. He knew it. 

Resigned, Anakin took one more look around the apartment, “you’re sure we can trust her?”

Ahsoka shrugged, “what other choice do we have?”

“None,” Ventress said casually as she came out of the room again, a mask in one hand and bag in the other, “in the future, you two could have the decency to whisper if you’re going to talk about me.”

With that, she slid on her mask and blew past them out the door, not even waiting for them to catch up. 

* * *

Her contact turned out to be two sisters working out of a run-down hanger on one of the middle levels. Anakin and Ahsoka both stayed in the back as Ventress approached them, the older one taking the lead boasting about their ship’s flying speeds and various amenities. 

“But can it get through a blockade?” The assassin questioned, unimpressed by the showboating. 

“Totally, totally. No problem,” the older sister assured, looking to the younger for confirmation and receiving a quick nod. “Trace here is the best engineer on the  _ planet.  _ If anyone can figure out a device that can bypass the Republic’s scanners, it’s her.”

Anakin found that hard to believe, but maybe that was just his own ego talking. 

After a handshake and an exchange of credits –and a harsh warning from Ventress when the older sister tried to up the price– the trio made their way to the little ship that was scarcely bigger than the Twilight. As the ramp descended, Ventress halted in front of it, forcing the two to turn to face her. 

“This is as far as I’m going. If Rafa didn’t pull through –which is always a possibility– then I don’t want to be caught in the crossfire.”

Ahsoka didn’t seem surprised or disappointed, looking much younger in the bright lights of the hanger and in her too-big Jedi robes. For a split-second, all was as it should be, and she was still just some teenager who was about to go on a mission she didn’t feel personally inclined to. 

“Thank you, Ventress. How much do we owe you?”

The assassin looked at the lightsaber at Anakin’s waist, and then at the distinct  _ lack _ of any on Ahsoka’s, before speaking, “I’m going to take a wild guess and assume you don’t have as many credits as you claim too?” Before either Jedi could speak, she continued, “I’m also assuming you’re going to take the Little Jedi here to wherever you lot find your kyber crystals.” 

He didn’t reply, didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of being right, but she gathered as much anyway. 

“Bring me back two.”

_ “What?” _

If it was true that she’d left the Sith, he could excuse working with her, he could even excuse her snide comments the entire time. But Anakin Skywalker would  _ die _ before he willingly put the tools to create the most dangerous weapon in the galaxy in the hands of a disciple of the Dark Side. 

“The last time I helped you out,” she said to Ahsoka, “I lost my sabers for it. It’s time you pay me back.”

Anakin could feel the Force shake around him. “We’re  _ not going to–” _

“Done.” As quickly as she said it, Ahsoka reached out a hand, shook it with Ventress, and quickly began pushing Anakin up the ramp and into the ship, not giving him a chance to argue.

* * *

There weren’t any problems getting off the planet. By all technicalities, the ship was legally purchased, if under a fake name. And if the person operating the scanners couldn’t detect any lifeforms on board and thought it was a droid-operated shuttle, then that was nobody’s fault but the Republic’s. Why bother stopping it? Even Anakin knew that Republic protocol only required shuttles with lifeforms to be interrogated during a planet-wide lockdown. 

Still, it felt like he held his breath until they were in hyperspace. As if Ventress had somehow gotten to the upper levels and told Obi-Wan directly what had happened, all before they’d left the atmosphere. 

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed flying. He’d been grounded for no more than a day and a half, and yet there was instant relief as he’d slid into the pilot’s seat. Everything around him had gotten so complicated so quickly. But not this. Flying a ship had always been simple.

Before they’d lifted off, Ahsoka had mumbled something about going to sit in the cargo bay, just in case they did get stopped, and she hadn’t made a sound since. He knew she knew what it felt like to jump to hyperspace. He knew at this point she was just avoiding him.

Though it pained him a bit, he set the ship into auto-pilot –they wouldn’t be arriving to Ilum for hours– and left the cockpit, making his way over to the source of turmoil in the Force. 

She was seated on the ground, her knees pulled to her chest and her head resting on her arms. If he couldn’t feel her thoughts whirring through her head, he’d think that she’d somehow managed to fall asleep that quickly. 

“Snips?” She perked her head up, her forehead pink where she’d been pressed on her arm. Against the harsh metal of the ship, he could see echoes of the first few days she’d spent in prison. Scared and making an effort not to show it, alert at every noise made. He was only put at ease by the Jedi robes she wore, the softness in her gaze. 

“Yeah? What’s wrong?”

Nothing… Everything… He didn’t really know what was and wasn’t wrong at that point. 

Instead of answering he just sat down, leaning against the wall opposite her, and mirroring her position. He thought of days (years) ago, when this was their normal routine on missions. Auto-pilot and rest and casually enjoying each other’s company. 

Back before everything was so messed up. He really needed to stop yearning for the past like that. 

He thought of everything Padme had said, about Obi-Wan and Mandalore and Satine. And he knew that she’d omitted some details, whether it was just her personal stake in the matter getting in the way or just to get him out of the building as fast as possible. But Ahsoka would’ve been there, or at least known. Obi-Wan had been her mentor, after all. 

“Can you tell me what happened on Mandalore?”

Her face fell the second he mentioned it, more grief than horror. She didn’t ask him how he knew, she’d always been smart enough to put two and two together, but she did take her time. He supposed it couldn’t be easy, seeing as she probably had her own opinions on the matter and how it had affected her trial. 

“It wasn’t a message to the Council,” she started, staring at the floor, “Satine sent a distress call directly to Obi-Wan. She didn’t say what had happened in it, but it sounded bad.”

“He showed it to you?” Anakin asked. Obi-Wan was rarely one for sharing. Especially when it came to the Duchess. 

“I was with him when he got it,” she shrugged, “we were working on some low-level mission. Guarding a Senator, or something. This was right after I’d been Knighted.

“I didn’t go with him, he told me to stay and finish the mission, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him drop everything so quickly. In retrospect, it should’ve been obvious that it was a trap. I mean, I’ve only met Satine once and even I know that she had too much pride to call Obi-Wan for help. So he got there and… it was bad. There was a whole civil war between the clans, people weren't getting the help they needed, and right at the center of it all was Maul.”

Maul. Really, Anakin should’ve known that he had something to do with it. The Dathomirian had had his sights set on Obi-Wan since Anakin had known him. And if he wanted to make it personal, then Satine was the way to get to him. It wasn’t right, but neither was anything else the Sith did. 

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

She hugged her knees a bit closer, raised her brows at the thought, “It’s not my fault. Even if I’d gone with him, if I’d ignored his orders even though he would never have let me, Maul was waiting for him when he got there. He’d planned the whole thing, just to get to him. He killed her right in front of him, the second he showed up. He didn’t give Obi-Wan a fighting chance.”

She flicked her eyes up to Anakin, her face unreadable. 

“He said it didn’t matter because Jedi aren’t supposed to feel attachment like that, but he wasn’t the same afterward. I still don’t know what happened to Maul, but I think he killed him on Mandalore.”

“He was grieving,” Anakin rationed, “that sort of thing can cloud people’s judgment.”

Ahsoka just broke the eye contact and sighed. “I think it’s hypocritical. For months, whenever I had free time I would take a ship out to where Obi-Wan and I exited Mortis and look for you, and he told me that I was holding onto the past too much and needed to accept the will of the Force. But he gets to throw a tantrum over his illegal-girlfriend dying?” She shook her head, “I sound like an asshole.”

“Most Jedi do,” Anakin joked, because wasn’t that the gist of what the Council had told him when his mother had died? Deal with it and move on? But coming from Ahsoka, it sounded even crueler. It didn’t sound like some Jedi ideal she cherished and held close, it sounded quite the opposite. But hadn’t he trained her that way? To question the Order on things that mattered? Was it not, then, his fault that the Force around her was not as purely Light as it once had been?

He shook the thought out of his head, told himself that it was still because he was a man out of time, and stood up. “C’mon, Snips. I think I saw a sabacc deck in the cockpit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on a Clone Wars zine!! Found: A Clone Wars fanzine will be coming out around October, and features art, recipes, and writing from several extremely talented people! I'm partnered with an absolutely incredible artist to create an illustrated story, and I️ can't wait for it to come out! All the proceeds go to charity, and I️ hope you guys will consider it!! More info can be found here:  
> https://foundaclonewarszine.tumblr.com/


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anakin tells Ahsoka a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry updates have been coming slower lately. Life's been crazy. But how about that Bad Batch announcement, am I️ right?

The rest of the flight to Ilum wasn’t exactly painless. But Ahsoka and Anakin had years of co-piloting under their belt, and even if it had been a long time (more so for her than him) since they’d been in the cockpit together, it wasn’t the type of thing that could slip away with the years. In the way that Anakin and Obi-Wan were on the battlefield, the two of them were a well-oiled machine when they needed to be. 

Though, that was only in the instance of something going wrong on the ship first. Which happened much more frequently than either of them would’ve liked. 

“I thought they said this was one of the fastest ships on the planet,” Anakin bemoaned as he hastily worked to quiet the ships blaring sirens, signaling  _ something _ wrong with the engine. 

“She did,” Ahsoka said from the ground, where she was half-hidden under the control board she was trying to rewire. Without looking, she reached out a hand and he twisted to pass her a bit-driver. “She didn’t say how long it would last after we left the atmosphere, though.”

Biting his tongue between his teeth, a habit Obi-Wan had worked tirelessly to help him kick as a Padawan because it was  _ dangerous, Anakin. You’ll see when you bite straight through,  _ he reached up and ripped out a wire, which finally cut the sound system and at least caused the alarms to quiet. 

Could he not just have a ship that worked for the whole time he was in it? Was it too much to ask for to just not have to fix it mid-flight?

When Ahsoka finally emerged from under the panel, she was holding what looked to be a restraining bolt between her thumb and index finger, a smile on her face. “Figured it out. They must’ve used these to try to keep the wiring that they couldn’t figure out from really messing things up. This one got loose, though, and started a whole chain reaction. It’d be a pretty cool solution if it was more fool-proof.”

Anakin plucked the restraining bolt from her as she went back under to actually fix the problem and held it up for scrutiny. They looked like the same model he and his mother had been selling at Watto’s. Not high quality and clearly out of date, to say the least. 

“You’ve gotten pretty good at the stuff, Snips,” he commented as he pocketed the bolt and went back to his own work. Maybe he should go over the cooling systems… just to be safe. 

From under the panel, he felt a warm glow from the praise, a feeling he recognized from whenever Obi-Wan would pay him a compliment for a job well done. “Someone had to keep the  _ Twilight _ operational while you were gone.”

There was something touching in the fact that she’d kept their old ship working for the past few years. There was something frustrating in the way she probably had to fight tooth and nail to keep it, butting heads with the Jedi’s code of detachment. There was something haunting about the fact that, realistically, since she wasn’t there to advocate for it anymore, it probably no longer resided in the Temple’s hangar. 

Before he could even attempt to verbalize any of that, there was another beep, this time at his waist. In one of the pockets on his belt, the comm Padme had given him sat blaring. 

“Hey, can you-”

“Yeah I got it,” she said, waving him off with the hand holding the bit-driver, “go talk to Padme.”

He left Ahsoka to tinker in the bridge, instead going to the small cargo bay she’d been posted up in as they left Coruscant. There were a handful of empty crates scattered around, and some wrappers that he assumed the two sisters who’d upgraded the ship had accidentally left. After wiping off one of the crates, he took a seat on it and held the comm up to his face. 

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Padme’s voice buzzed through, a little grainy from the distance. Still, just hearing her would always be enough. “I take it you and Ahsoka got off-world successfully?”

“Assuming the ship doesn’t break apart before we land, yeah I would call it successful,” he laughed into the device. Obi-Wan had never liked flying,  _ especially _ with Anakin in the pilot seat, and perhaps this was why. If his Master were here, he’d be much more discouraging about the casual jokes made about the fact that they could be lost to the cruel vacuum of space at any moment. 

Of course, if his Master were here, he probably wouldn’t be talking to Padme at all. 

Would he?

The Jedi had changed so much since he’d been gone. Who knew what the rules were, now. 

“Well let’s all hope that doesn’t happen then, shall we?” Padme teased through the comm. He wished he could see her. Which he knew was selfish, because he’d  _ just  _ seen her a handful of hours ago. Still, he couldn’t help but miss her already. 

“So,” he said after a moment, “were you calling just to say hi, or was there something you wanted to talk about?”

“Am I not allowed to just say hello?”

“No, of course you are,” he laughed, “trust me, I enjoy nothing more. But usually you’re a bit more driven by motivations than that.”

She gave another soft laugh at that, and he could envision the way she would bow her head and hide her smile, the way any trained Senator ought to. Much like the Jedi, they discouraged being overemotional in just about any instance. Much like Anakin, Padme always seemed to find herself speaking from the heart anyway. 

“I just wanted to let you and Ahsoka know that I’ve wired some credits into a third party bank account that you both have access to. It’s not a lot, but it should be enough to keep your ship fueled and you two from eating each other.”

Always one to impress. Always one step ahead of the game. 

“Padme,” he smiled, his awe clearly evident in his voice, “do I even want to know how you got credits into an account for someone who doesn’t exist so quickly?”

“Oh, I’ve had it for years,” she waved him off nonchalantly, “I have hundreds of accounts like these. Just in case.”

“In case of what?” He teased. 

“In case my husband comes back from the dead and needs some extra spending money.”

“Who’s this husband guy?” Anakin laughed, “He sounds handsome.”

“He is,” she played along merrily, “handsome and strong and very full of himself for it.”

“Hey-”

“Hey!” she cut him off with another laugh, this one louder and more known than the first. Anakin could hardly remember the last time they’d joked so easily with one another. Since he’d first returned, all their conversations had been clouded by the overhanging reminder that they were displaced through time. Since the war had started, either one or both of them had been constantly holding stress over whatever bill or assignment they had to work on next. Truly, the last time he’d heard her give a genuine, full laugh was on the fields of Naboo. 

“Do you want to know where we’re going or would you prefer to stay aloof?” He asked once their moment had passed. It was always the sort of thing they asked one another if they were doing something that didn’t quite meet the Republic’s guidelines. Sometimes you wanted to know, sometimes it was better if you didn’t. 

“I think I’ll take the plausible deniability,” she decided, and through the comm he heard the chime that signaled someone on their way up the elevator to her penthouse. “I have to go, but I’ll talk to you later, Ani.”

“I love you,” he said with all the years he’d missed out on. 

“I love you, too.” and then the cold reality of the commlink clicking off. 

From the entrance of the cargo bay, there was a clatter, and Anakin looked up to see Ahsoka, frozen in place as she reached out her hand to use the Force to grab whatever she’d knocked over, but just a second too late. Well, he figured they’d have to have this conversation at some point. 

“How long were you listening?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said as she straightened, dusting off her robes and looking around as if she hadn’t been eavesdropping, “I’m just taking a stroll around the ship. Didn’t even notice you sitting there.”

He gave her an incredulous look, and she hung her head like she was still a teenager and had been caught sneaking out of the Temple late at night. “Long enough to know that that’s not how  _ I _ talk to Senators.”

He half-laughed at the joke, if just to break the tension in the room. She’d probably always known, a lot of people liked to tell Anakin that he was as easy to read as a book. (And not even a complex text. More like a child’s story.) But he didn’t feel scared. There was no threat of consequence from this reveal, and not just because she would never tell the Jedi now. No, if he would’ve come out and told her that he and Padme were married before Mortis when they were still both Jedi, she wouldn’t have gone to the Council then, either. She would’ve used the information to her advantage whenever they bickered, but she would never have told a soul. 

“When did you two… you know?” She asked carefully as she perched herself on top of the shipping container behind her. Anakin was reminded of the days they would spend in the belly of the  _ Resolute, _ observing clones taking inventory and trying to fill the hours between assignments.

“When did we get involved?” He asked, and it gave him a brief flash of joy to see her shoulders tense instantly.

“Gross,” she wrinkled her nose, “it’s like finding out my brother’s dating someone I know.”

“Married,” he corrected, mostly because that was the only time he’d ever been able to make that correction. Might as well scream it from the hilltops while he could. “And since before you knew either of us.”

Ahsoka nodded silently, processing the information, and Anakin felt the gears turning within her head. He could see flashes of every time she’d ever seen him and Padme in a room together, how she reevaluated every minuscule touch and comment. 

Suspicion and confirmation are two separate entities. 

“I still think it’s gross,” she laughed after another moment of silence, and when he raised a brow at her, she added, “plus, I think Padme could do way better.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “she absolutely could.”

“Oh my-” she rolled her eyes and made a retching sound, “ _ gross.  _ I should have never said anything. Now I’m going to have to deal with  _ this _ all the way until we to Ilum-”

“You asked-”

“-and then every conversation after that,” she waved off his attempts to talk over her and hopped off the crate, “My life has just become infinitely more unbearable and I can’t even complain to you about it because you’re just going to make it about yourself, as always. You can stay here and wax poetic about your wife while I do actual work on the ship.” As she passed through the frame into the hall of the ship, she paused and turned over her shoulder, her annoyed demeanor dropped for a moment. “But for real, Skyguy… thanks for telling me. You guys seem happy.”

Before he could even think of a response, she had turned away again and was scurrying back to the pilot seat, as if the unabashed emotions they’d shared had caused her physical pain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I️ was going to add more to this chapter, but then I️ remembered that I️ wanted to put out at least one chapter this month so ://


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they go to Ilum

There was always something to be said for Ilum’s atmosphere. Not the actual air around the planet, but the energy that it carried. A sense of importance, or harmony, and –most notably– of the untouched Force. Anakin knew that this was the atmosphere that the Council strived to recreate in the Temple, why they kept the walls plain and the halls quiet. But soundproof rooms and beige paint don’t erase location. It was impossible to ignore the constant hum of life outside the Temple’s walls, especially for a Jedi whose main goal is to be as connected to the beings around him as possible. 

But that wasn’t Ilum. Ilum was clean and cold and serene, with the presence of the Force making itself known from all directions. Anakin could feel all the way to the core of the planet, even before their ship had landed. 

“Noone’s here,” Ahsoka commented as they waited for the ramp of the ship to lower into the snowy plain beneath them. It would be a hike to reach the sanctuary within. They could’ve landed closer, Anakin supposed. But it didn’t feel right. This was sacred ground. Even if the Jedi weren’t themselves, even if the two of them weren’t Jedi, even if everything had gone haywire recently, this would still remain sacred. And he would respect that until the day he died. 

“That’s kind of the whole point, isn’t it?” he joked as they began to make their way off the ship, the ramp shutting behind them. They’d made a quick stop at a nearby satellite on the way in, using some of the money Padme had sent them to buy the first coat that fit so Ilum wouldn’t be too unbearable. It was still cold, though. Not a pleasant environment for someone who’d grown up as warm-blooded as him. 

He’d been here often enough that he didn’t really expect it to be any other way, but you never quite remember how cold a planet is until you go back.

“Haha,” she mocked before giving him a swift punch to the arm. She seemed to be faring much better than he was in the frigid weather, but he hadn’t exactly been built for the cold. In a split second, he returned fire by scooping up a handful of snow and lobbing it at her, which she quickly dodged. 

Alright, maybe the planet wasn’t  _ that  _ sacred. 

She fought back immediately, ducking into a roll and grabbing snow on her way back up, which she packed into a ball and chucked at his head, only for him to smoothly swerve out of the way. 

“Ceasefire?” he asked, holding both hands up above his head. When she took a second to hesitate and evaluate how earnest he was, he shoved both hands forward and down, sending a wave of snow over his head and onto her, only her montrals visible once it had all settled. 

After a second of grunts, she managed to worm her way out, using the Force to move any snow still blocking her path. “That’s  _ illegal,” _ she pursed her lips at him, flicking the last bit of snow off her shoulder and in his direction, “false surrenders are technically war crimes.”

“So’s attacking your allies,” he made a face back at her, “but I didn’t call  _ you  _ out on it.”

After a second, they both broke out into a fit of laughter, carrying it with them as they trudged uphill. 

“If Obi-Wan had seen that, he would’ve made us both volunteer in the kitchen for weeks.” She laughed, rolling her shoulders and appreciating the wide-open landscape. 

“I don’t think it counts as volunteer work if you’re forced to do it,” Anakin replied, following her lead. “Though, I  _ will _ say it would’ve been over much sooner. He’s a surprisingly good shot.”

“Yeah, I know,” she nodded merrily, “I think I once saw him launch a rock at some poor guy from across the battlefield.”

“What?” Anakin laughed, slipping a bit on the snow as the incline turned steeper, “when was this?” 

“A year or two ago,” Ahsoka shrugged flippantly, then more somber, “sorry, that’s probably weird for you to hear.”

She’d pulled ahead of him, always one to find faster and better ways to climb or sprint to the front of the pack, but now she stilled to let him catch up. As he worked his way towards her, he just momentarily brushed a hand over her shoulder before pushing ahead, “you said it yourself: life kept going on without me. And, yeah, that’s weird and I don’t like it, but there’s not really much of anything I can do about it.” 

He felt her watching him climb, contemplating, for a second before she began bounding up the snowy hill again. “Race you to the top.”

* * *

It wasn’t a fair race. Ahsoka had always been faster than him. Still, it was nice of her to wait the several minutes it took for him to meet her at the top. 

“Is it just me, or are you,” she leaned in, squinted, “ _ wheezing, _ old man?”

He simply used the Force to pick up another ball of snow, holding it threateningly, “ _ don’t _ make me use this.” When she backed off with a triumphant smirk, he let it fall back to the ground. “‘Sides, I’m pretty sure that  _ you’re  _ the older one now.”

“Does that mean that you’re now  _ my  _ Padawan?” she laughed, tucking her arms behind her back and adopting a teacherly walk that they’d both seen Obi-Wan do on several occasions. 

“Being the Master isn’t about age,” Anakin corrected, sticking his foot out and causing her trip and stumble, “it’s about experience. And I’m pretty sure that only one of us almost single-handedly helped win the Battle of Naboo.”

“I’m pretty sure that only one of us ended up riding a Rancor halfway across a moon because her ship crashed, but okay,” she said as she recovered, then glanced over to him. It took Anakin a second to gather that she was looking for approval, the way she would back when everything was still as it was supposed to be. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, but instead just gave her an approving smile and nod. 

The rest of the walk was made in a comfortable silence. As the sanctuary began to come into view, Anakin was washed over with a sense of familiarity, of belonging. The entire galaxy could change around him, but Ilum would always be a constant. It would always be here, just as above the concept of time as he had become. 

As they approached, he noticed Ahsoka beginning to slow down, eventually trailing behind him like a tooka trailing behind their owner. 

“Snips?” He turned, began walking backward, tilting his head and silently asking for her to hurry up. “What is it?”

After a second, she shook her head and hurried to catch up with him. “Nothing. Sorry, just got a weird feeling.”

Never a good sign. 

They continued forward. 

It never got old, the way that the sanctuary looked when you stood right at its base. The decorated stone plates beneath their feet, the glacier blocking their path towering over them. Somehow, Anakin felt just as small as when he’d first come with a group of younglings to get his first crystal. It had been a ceremony, a big to-do, and it had felt formal and important the whole time. Now, with only Ahsoka next to him, it seemed so much less daunting. 

“Ready?” He asked, setting down the pack he’d been carrying from the ship that they’d filled with food and firewood, and she mirrored the action, though more hesitantly. After a nod from her, they both reached out a hand and worked to focus the Force. 

Anakin could feel it working, could sense it flowing through him the way it would any other day, like water through a rocky stream. But nothing moved. Not the glacier, which should be lowering for them, not the doors behind it, which should have been opening, and not the caverns beneath, which should have been ringing their welcome. 

With a frown, he pushed harder, reached deeper within himself and looked over for Ahsoka to do the same, only to find her not focusing at all, but rather standing with her arms by her side, staring blankly at the ice. 

“Ahsoka,” He asked, breaking his concentration, “what are you doing?”

“It doesn’t want me,” she mumbled, still staring high up at the glacier. Then, to him, “it won’t let me open the ice. I can’t help you with that.”

He crossed his arms. “What do you  _ mean, _ ‘it doesn’t want you’?” 

“This is a Jedi sanctuary,” she seemed so calm about the whole thing, like she’d already accepted all of this as fact, “and I’m not a Jedi. Not anymore. The gates were made for only Jedi to open it. It has to be you.”

“You said it yourself, neither of us are Jedi anymore, Snips,” he bemoaned, still not understanding where she was coming from, “not technically. That doesn't matter. I don’t see what the big issue is.”

She finally looked over to him, a calm but sad look on her face. Acceptance, maybe. Or maybe she’d accepted this a long time ago, but was only now coming to terms with having to tell him. 

“No… It’s not just that. I-” she hesitated, “It’s a lot more than that, Anakin. My time away from them… it gave me time to think. About the Order and what they believe, what they  _ believed in, _ even before you were gone. And it gave  _ me _ time to think about how much of that  _ I _ truly believed in; whether it was just because it was all I’d been taught or because I full-heartedly agree with them.” 

He stood there, staring blankly at her. “So… What? You’re just going to blindly give up on the ideals you lived by your whole life?” The only people he’d known who’d left the Order had turned to the Dark Side. He wouldn’t let his own student fall like that. “I get that what the Council did to you was wrong, but it’s no reason to turn your back on everything you’ve worked for!”

“It’s not that,” she shook her head, calm against his verbal assault, “I’m not giving up. It’s just clarity. I’m allowed to have my own thoughts.”

“Ahsoka, the Jedi are your life!”

“It’s just a belief system, Anakin,” she bit out, this time colder than before, “beliefs change. People change. They go through life and learn new things and change their opinions. That’s how it works. The Jedi Code is one guideline in a galaxy full of guidelines.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither was any of this,” this time, there was emotion. Actual hurt in her voice. She took a breath to calm herself down. “It’s not fair of the Jedi to think that their way of using the Force is the only right one. And I understand that you want to still follow their Code and live by their rules. I won’t fault you for that. Just… Don’t get mad at me for trying to find another way. Please?”

He looked her up and down, mad that the sincerity and nostalgia made it impossible for him to argue. Instead, he grumpily turned back to the large block of ice before him, still unmoved. 

“Well, what am I supposed to do about this? It needs the power of two Jedi to open it.”

“Aren’t you the Chosen One?” She asked, trying to revive some of the levity from earlier. “I’m sure you’re well enough attuned to the Force to do it by yourself, Skyguy.”

* * *

So… She was right. In the end, Anakin had managed to do it himself. In most situations, he would be happily rubbing in the fact that he’d done a task which usually took several Jedi all by himself. But usually, he wouldn’t have been forced into that position because his apprentice had made bold claims of suddenly no longer wanting to be a Jedi. 

Where had that even come from?

That was the thing he couldn’t wrap his head around as the glacier lowered itself to allow them to enter. Anakin had never – _ could _ never– fathom not wanting to be a Jedi. Especially in the case of someone as attuned to the Force as Ahsoka. The second Anakin had known what a Jedi was, he knew that that was how he would live his life. Sure, he didn’t agree with all of their policies. He didn’t fit perfectly into their idea of what a Jedi was, not the way that Obi-Wan or Luminara or even Master Yoda did. But he  _ understood. _ He understood that, even if it wasn’t entirely himself, to put aside emotions in favor of a greater good and to remain calm in the midst of a battle was a righteous path that worked with the Force rather than wielded it like a means to an end, the way the Sith did. 

Is that what Ahsoka had fallen to? The Dark Side? Was she on a mission to take vengeance on an Order that had cast her aside? He thought of the way she’d spoken with such fury, passion, about taking them out. About tearing the Order down, brick by brick. The way that Ventress had been the  _ first _ she’d turned to when she’d needed something. 

What had happened between the Temple bombing and when they’d actually imprisoned her? What wasn’t she telling him?

But… She wasn’t angry. Or, at least, not  _ only _ angry. He glanced back to where she was standing behind him, still staring in wonder at the way the walls came down before them, the way she did the first time she’d come for her crystal. This wasn’t the way of the Sith, of the Dark Side. They saw the living Force as a weapon at their disposal, something to use and be used. Not something precious, holy, important, bigger than themselves. 

No Ahsoka was no Sith. But she was also no Jedi. 

Where did that leave her?

Anakin had never heard of a Force user who didn’t fall to one side or the other. It was a very binary thing, the Dark and the Light. Like codes and mechanics: it either worked or it didn’t. You were either Jedi or Sith. Good guy or bad guy. There wasn’t a lot of room for shades of gray. 

“You coming?” He heard her call, and he hadn’t even realized that the glacier had fully disappeared beneath the ground and she’d begun walking through the entryway. 

The inside of the sanctuary was cold, sure, but it was also familiar, which lent itself to a kind of warmth that Anakin had been missing recently. Inside, not a thing had changed since the last time he’d been. A relic, frozen in time. 

Ahsoka jogged up to the second gate, this one separating the actual sanctuary from the caves that held the crystals. Anakin had a lot of memories of those caves, good and bad. Sometimes finding them was an exercise in patience and trust. Sometimes it was a hellish nightmare where he thought for sure he would freeze to death as visions of his mother watched in apathy. You know, Jedi things. 

“It’s gonna take a few hours for the gate to melt down,” Anakin said as he came up next to her, looking up at where the singular beam of sunshine was hitting about a foot above the ice. They hadn’t really timed it correctly, what with the rush in which they’d left Coruscant. At least they weren’t too late, though. It could be worse. 

Ahsoka glanced up to the hole that the sun was shining through, then back to the ice, then shrugged off her pack and coat. Before Anakin could ask her what she was doing (and scold her for inviting hypothermia) she knelt down to open the pack, producing a large, reflective disk. Without comment, she sprinted off, leaping from ledge to ledge in order to reach the hole, before placing the disk in front of it, angling it in a way that caused the sunbeam to tilt down and hit the ice at the base, causing it to begin to thaw. As quickly as she’d ascended, Ahsoka lept back down to the ground, coming to retrieve her coat and pack and give Anakin a smug grin. 

“I brought it just in case. Figured it could be useful.”

“Do I even want to know where you got the mirror?” He asked, still processing her actions. 

“I may have skimmed it off of one of the ship’s cannons. I promise I’ll put it back on before we leave,” she shrugged and turned to face the door forming. Then, glancing back, “Are… uh… are you coming for this part?”

Usually, the Master remained behind as the Younglings and Padawans journeyed into the caves for their crystals. It was ceremonial and a way for them to show that they were ready for the next stage, able to begin venturing out on their own. But Anakin had made a promise that he wouldn’t leave her again, and he meant it. He meant it as much as he meant it when he’d told Padme on Naboo all those years ago that he’d never stop loving her. 

So, when he took a step forward, he did so with the full intention of going with her. Of helping Ahsoka on this part of her journey, too. 

But it was only one step. Because, as he did it, he felt the ghost of a hand over his shoulder. The faintest whisper in the back of his mind by a vaguely familiar voice. 

_ No. Let her go.  _

So he stood down, gave a simple shake of his head, and watched a handful of scarce emotions cross her face. Surprise, sadness, understanding, acceptance, determination. Then, she turned, readjusted the straps of her bag, and made her way into the caves, turning over her shoulder only once to give him a quick wave before rounding a corner and disappearing. 

* * *

An hour had passed. She still wasn’t back. And Anakin had begun meditating. 

_ That’s  _ how bored he got. 

But… If he was being totally honest… it wasn’t just boredom. Ilum was special, this particular part of it even more so. Even if it wasn’t inside the caverns that ran deep into the planet, this one grand room was teeming with more spiritual energy than a small planet. And… if he and Ahsoka were to continue their stint as young rebels fleeing the authorities… Who knew when he would get a chance like this again?

The Jedi had no security systems on Ilum, they would never dare besmirch the surface of the planet with cameras and electronics, but if anyone was looking for them, well, where most Force signatures were lights, ones connected to Ilum were beacons in the dark. They couldn’t risk staying long, much less coming back any time soon. 

So Anakin sat, centered on the carved floor, closed his eyes, and meditated. Contemplated. Prayed. There were a lot of words for what this was. 

Padme had once asked him if the Jedi allowed their Knights and Padawans and so on to worship their own pantheon of gods. She’d asked if they saw the Force as a religion or simply a way of life. He hadn’t known how to respond to that, at the time. He’d never been religious, didn’t know of any local Tatooine gods worth caring about before traveling to Coruscant, and he’d never seen the Jedi as some kind of religious order. He knew not everyone thought of them that way, knew that there was something to be said for the fact that they called it a Temple rather than a base. But it had never mattered to him. 

He told her that he didn’t know, didn’t have an answer for her. He knew Ahsoka’s friend, Barriss, still kept idols of gods from her home planet in her room, but was one of the more skilled Force wielders he’d ever seen. He knew Vos had never believed in anything remotely close to that, but had unlocked powers through the Force that few ever could. 

_ I have faith in the Jedi, _ he’d said, _ and I know that the Force is a part of us all. Isn’t that enough? _

She’d run a hand delicately across his cheek and sighed,  _ I suppose it is for tonight. _

So it wasn’t that Anakin got down on his knees and said a prayer to the universe, but it felt just as important as if he did. Sitting there, his eyes closed and thoughts focused on nothing but the living Force, Anakin Skywalker felt a connection. 

“I see you’ve kept my gift.” 

When he opened his eyes, sitting across from him was the Father, a man he’d never expected to see again. 

Normally, he would ask how he got there. He’d ask how he didn’t make a sound, why he’d come in the first place, and demand to know what he wanted. 

But this was the god (the being of pure Force) that had kept Anakin for a little longer than everyone else and subsequently thrown him five years out of his own timeline. Why would anything be off the table?

Still, the Father smiled knowingly, as if Anakin hadn’t even needed to voice his thoughts out loud. 

“You want to know how I arrived here.” Not a question. A fact. 

Dryly, Anakin replied, “Well, I didn’t hear you come in.”

The Father laughed at this, a gesture that reminded Anakin of Obi-Wan all the more. It was a small, private thing that lasted only a second before he regained his composure. 

“What’s so funny?” Anakin frowned, extremely not in the mood for more Mortis shenanigans. He’d, for once, just wanted to be left alone with his thoughts. Was that really so much to ask for?

“Your ignorance,” The Father hummed, causing Anakin to grow even less amused, “You’ve only been gone for a handful of days. Surely you couldn’t have forgotten all you’d learned so quickly.”

_ My children and I can manipulate the Force like no other.  _

“Yes,” The Father praised, not waiting for Anakin to speak the thought out loud, “your memory serves you. We are more connected than anyone has or ever will be. A blessing and a curse, I suppose. To be able to see the universe around you so clearly, and yet be so unable to affect it.”

“Is that why you held me on your planet?” Anakin snapped, “why you let five years pass without me?”

The Father stared deeply at him, evaluating the supposed Chosen One. “If I could only change the course of history once, I’m glad I changed it in this way.”

“Why now?” Anakin demanded, his voice ringing in the Ilum cavern, “Why could I not have been released back to my own time?”

“You were needed now,” The Father said simply, “This is the point in time where you can do the most good.”

“I could've done more then!” He yelled, frustrated that he was letting his temper get the best of him in such an important place, in front of such an unaffected being. 

The Father’s gaze hardened then, his blue and black eyes growing steely, “no. You would’ve made things worse.”

“Things are worse now!” Anakin retorted, frustrated that there was nothing he could do to prove himself right, “Without me, everything’s gone to hell. The Jedi aren’t anything like they once were, I barely recognize Obi-Wan, Ahsoka was framed for terrorism, everything is  _ wrong.” _

The Father just laughed again, more hearty this time. 

_ “What?” _ Anakin growled. 

“It’s amusing,” the old man smiled, “how central you think yourself to be. That you think none of this would be true if you were there,” then, more seriously, “Five years have passed and everything has shifted. If history had continued on its barreling course, your world would be much worse off for it. I did the right thing.”

“It’s still bad!” Anakin yelled again, “what’s worse than this?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” the god said solemnly. 

Anakin didn’t want to argue. He didn’t even really want to talk to the man. “Fine. You put me here because I can fix things now. But you won’t tell me  _ how.” _

The Father cast a glance to Anakin’s pack, to the blue stone sword he’d given him on Mortis what felt like years ago. “I gave you all the tools you would need.”

“Well,” Anakin scoffed, “how do I use them?”

The Father looked to him again, this time with a look Anakin also recognized from Obi-Wan. The one that said  _ how are you not getting this yet? _

“My children and I,” the Father started, “we are beings made up of the Force.  _ Purely _ of the Force.”

“Yeah,” Anakin said, bored. He didn’t need a godly biology lesson, he needed answers. 

“The weapon you have discarded over there, it is the only thing that can sever us from the mortal plane.”

When Anakin remained apathetically silent, the Father let out a sigh then, within a second, summoned the sword with his left hand and Anakin’s flesh hand with his right. 

“Wait! What are you-” Before he could finish the thought, the Father slashed across his hand with the blue sword, and on instinct Anakin let out a yelp and retracted his hand as quickly as he could, scurrying back and far away from the clearly senile old man. 

But, when he looked down, there was nothing. Not even a hint of a scar. In disbelief, Anakin held up his hand for further inspection, but no. There was no physical wound. 

“Pure Force,” the Father said, calm despite the attack as he set the sword down again, “does not come in a physical form for mortal beings like yourself. It is within, you and your companion more than most. This weapon was created to destroy that. Use it.” 

With that, not leaving any time for Anakin to ask another question, he disappeared, and Anakin was given a startling feeling of finality with his words. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I️ really am sorry that this one took so long to get another chapter up. I just moved to college, so I️ have that + class prep keeping me very busy. 
> 
> (Also, having a lot of feelings about Season 3 of Infinity Train.)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ahsoka gets her crystals

When Ahsoka came out of the cavern, she was visibly shaken. An hour earlier, Anakin would’ve said she looked like she’d seen a ghost. And maybe she had, but so had Anakin, and he didn’t think  _ his _ shoulders were that tense, his eyes that wide. 

Without a word, she moved to toss something to him before she’d even passed through the arch back into the main cavern Anakin had been stalking around for the better part of the day. He only caught sight of the faintest glint as they sailed through the air in warning as to what the hurled objects were, but as he caught them they didn’t feel right. 

Kyber crystals were supposed to glow. Not just externally, but from the inside, too. They were some of the rarest, most powerful things in the galaxy, strong enough to power weapons that could cut through steel, strong enough to outlive a dying star. And yet, the ones that she’d thrown to him didn’t feel powerful. They felt scared, like they knew what was coming next. 

“We told Ventress we’d get her some crystals,” Ahsoka said, her other hand still held in a white-knuckled fist at her side. From there, Anakin could feel the  _ real _ reason they’d come pulsing. 

“Doesn’t mean we have to do it,” He commented as he pocketed the crystals, feeling bad as he did so. This was arguably the most important place in the galaxy, and it felt like they were letting her in. She shouldn’t be privy to Ilum. 

The Sith had their temples, their places to do whatever it was they spent their free time doing. Anakin imagined endless dick-measuring competitions, hours of unprompted speech about the  _ real _ reason the galaxy was in chaos, and more dramatic whooshes of cloaks than could ever be necessary. 

(Not that that was entirely different from what went on inside the Temple walls on Coruscant.)

“A promise is a promise,” Ahsoka said, still coming off as hollow. “You taught me that. You don’t get to back out of that now.”

He felt a pang of guilt in his chest, and then a pang of something else when he didn’t like the taste of the guilt. 

“I thought I also taught you that rules were made to be broken sometimes.”

“Blame Obi-Wan for it, then,” she snapped, but it didn’t fall in line with their usual rhythm of banter. This was coming from a more genuine place, one of lashing out at the nearest thing you could hit. One of misplaced rage. Anakin could, woefully, relate. 

He could still feel the heat prickling his cheek, from where the huts were left burning. Fires don’t go out quickly on Tatooine. They burn and burn and burn. 

It took a strong gust of icy wind blowing in through the caverns Ahsoka had just emerged from to snap him out of it. 

“Are you gonna talk about it?” He asked, uncharacteristically patient. But he’d always been that way with Ahsoka. Anyone else, and he would snap right back at them. Anyone else, and he wouldn’t even give them the time of day. But his well of tolerance ran deep when it came to her. 

“Talk about what?” she asked, feigning ignorance despite the way she somehow tightened her already strangling grip on the crystals held in her hand. 

He only needed to brush carefully –respectfully unintrusive– across their bond for her to let out a sigh of acceptance. Apology. 

“It wasn’t like I remember it.”

“How do you remember it?” He asked, his teacher voice turning on at the opportunity to guide. It was a welcome change of pace from being talked down to by a cryptic phantom. This was something he could fix himself. Not swords that don’t pierce skin or gods that speak in riddles or universes that didn’t operate like they were supposed to. 

She looked over to him, a sad expression painting her face as if she weren’t expecting him to ask. He took that as an indication to sit down, to gesture in front of him for her to do the same. They were wanted and on the run, but they could spare a few moments. This was more important.

She moved slowly to the space across from him, sitting down after a moment as if she were evaluating how genuine this was. When she sat down, she took a moment to herself before sighing and setting the crystals she’d been gripping down in front of her. As her hand slid away, a bright white glow burst forth, taking Anakin by surprise. 

It could wait. They’d discuss, but it could wait. 

“When I was a kid,” she said, placing her newly free hands on her knees in the meditative stance he’d seen Obi-Wan strike so often, “it had seemed so big and daunting, but also prophesied. Like, I was meant to be there, you know?”

Anakin did know. He’d come to the Ilum caves later than most, having started his training with the Jedi later than most. It was an awkward feeling, the shuttle ride over, as if nothing had ever clicked right and he still needed proof that he deserved to be there, enough of a reason to leave everything he’d ever known behind for this. 

But, as they’d landed, as they approached the mountain of ice, he’d felt it call out to him like a hug, a warm envelopment that seemed out of place on such a cold world. It wasn’t a tactical invasion on their part, but the acceptance of an offered invitation. Stepping in, watching the ice meltdown as Master Yoda knowingly smiled from his place, nothing had ever felt more right in the world. 

A lot had happened in those caves, but Anakin had never been afraid. Not once. Maybe that’s why they were so important to him. He was so used to the feeling of fear, of something happening to him and his mom or that all of this was some elaborate misunderstanding or any of the million other things there were to worry about in a galaxy at war, that stepping into the glowing caves felt like being unshackled from weighted chains. 

Separate from everyone and where else, all he had to focus on was the Force and his connection to it. 

“I know,” he nodded. 

Ahsoka worried her bottom lip for a second before nodding and continuing, “yeah, you would, Skyguy.” Another moment, then, “I don’t know. It was just… It was different this time.”

Anakin remained quiet, trying to give her the space to talk through everything at whatever pace she needed, but he was beginning to grow worried. He’d never seen white kyber crystals, not after they’d bonded with someone. Blue, yellow, green, a handful of purple. Red in the wrong hands. Hell, he’d even seen a black saber before. But this… this was strange. 

It didn’t feel angry, not the way the red or black sabers did. Not  _ wrong _ in any way. If anything it rang distantly of the Sentinels back at the Temple’s yellow blades, always wavering at a higher frequency than green and a lower one than blues or purples. 

But even then, this was still an estranged limb of that. 

“What happened there, Ahsoka?” Anakin asked gently, a tone that didn’t come naturally to him. Even between them, they’d always had a much more on-the-fly dynamic. Obi-Wan had raised and trained Anakin in the Temple, the library, the training rooms, but Ahsoka had learned on the battlefield. Anakin had taught her to fix ships as they were crashing, to fight as they were surrounded, and to take everything with a laugh. Their dynamic was one of endless jokes and harmless bickering, but respect –a two-way thing– running underneath all of that. 

He had always given her patience, but softness was another issue entirely. 

The last time he’d been soft, had put others so highly above himself, he’d lost Ahsoka and Obi-Wan both. 

She looked up at him then, suddenly and with a knowledge that he knew only she and Obi-Wan would ever possess, whispered, “You can forgive yourself.”

Anakin had always been loud with his emotions, even if he didn’t mean to be. It’s just what came so easily to him. She was the same. Obi-Wan had been exceptional at holding them inside and not letting them see the light of day, but with Anakin and Ahsoka they bubbled right under the surface, spilling over into the other’s head when they got too intense. But this wasn’t about him. This was  _ her _ journey, or at least her leg of it. And if he had to set aside whatever complicated feelings he had about Mortis in order to see her through it, then that was fine. 

“What happened?

Ahsoka stiffened for a second, then finally –finally– let her shoulders relax, and Anakin could feel her mental walls coming down. He prodded again, gently, and this time she let him in, gave him visuals of what she’d seen as she began.

“It was… It was dark. I remember it being so bright as a kid. When I came in with my creche, every single crystal had glowed so bright.”

Anakin could see it, a young Ahsoka walking through an unbelievably expansive cavern by herself, clear crystals glowing against the dark stone like stars in the sky, creating a level of magic that Anakin hadn’t himself felt in a long time. The Force still felt new as a kid, still unknowable. Anakin had seen this memory in Ahsoka’s eyes even back when he’d first met her, shining of wonder and hope. 

That glint was gone, now. 

“It feels so much colder, now,” she said, and a puff of her breath fogged in front of her face for emphasis, “I don’t remember it being so cold. And dark. Or– it wasn’t dark. It just… It wasn’t bright.”

Anakin could see this, too. A reflection of the first memory. This time an older, wiser, stronger Ahsoka walked once again by herself through what could’ve been the same cavern, if not for the dullness of it. No more stars, glowing crystals to light her path. Now, there was only the gray rock and the white snow that buried itself in the corner. Only long shadows, stretching out as guides. 

Anakin watched second-hand as she was dwarfed by the curved stones, looming over her almost voyeuristically, as she stumbled half-blind to a larger, more open area that seemed to encircle a large pillar of ice, with four jagged edges reaching out like branches, thicker and less opaque. The crystals. 

Anakin looked down at the two in his hand, the ones that Ahsoka was intent on passing along to Ventress. Then he looked at the ones laid out in front of her. As far as he’d known, she’d only  _ just _ gotten her second saber. He’d watched her practice Jar’Kai for months, but she’d only just begun implementing it in her actual fighting. It struck him then that, with all the five extra years she’d spent perfecting her forms, she must be a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Most of the Force users he’d seen implement Jar’Kai were Sith, who fought with severely less finesse than most Jedi. Anakin couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a Jedi use it. It was a hard thing to learn, after all. And trying to develop new fighting styles during a war had not been high on most people’s list of priorities. Hells, the last time Anakin had tried fighting Jar’Kai he’d lost a hand for his carelessness. 

In a childlike way, he found himself wanting to see Ahsoka in action. He’d seen glints of it, briefly, when they’d broken out of the prison, had seen the flow of ease that had washed over her when she’d held his saber. But he wanted to see what she could do with two blades. He knew, whatever it was, it would be spectacular. 

Ahsoka glanced at him with a smile, pride and embarrassment mixing in that way it always did whenever Anakin took the time to show his approval. He did the same thing with Obi-Wan. 

She let a memory slip, just then. Something brief and flashing. Her and Rex, fighting back-to-back on some platform. She wasn’t as old as she was now in the present, but she was older than when Anakin had last seen her. Her usual red and brown now added to, adorned with bracers and a shoulder plate painted with the Jedi’s sigil. His, he realized. The one he’d worn in the early days of the Clone Wars. In the memory, she let her sabers, no longer green but now brilliant blue, fly from her hands, and then dug into the platform beneath her and Rex, twisting in a circle and cutting a hole for them to slip through. 

It was… it was impressive. There was no other word for it. 

But as soon as it was done, it was overshadowed by the memory of having to hand them over. Having to watch as they were dismantled and the crystals shattered. How that moment dug a hole in a person’s chest the way losing a loved one would.

In the corner of his mind he always tried to leave untouched, his mother let out another scream. Another reminder that he’d been too late, too absorbed in his own battles to care about hers. She’d just been another person to disappoint. 

“You got the crystals,” he prodded, “what’s wrong?”

After a moment, Ahsoka let out a cleansing breath, and just like that the final wall fell. Just like that, Anakin could see the edges of the picture that had been blurred, and watched as everything came to fruition. 

As she held her two crystals in her hand, dull without connection, they whispered to her through the Force, promises of reflection and insight, of discovery yet to be made. They began to sputter then, flickering between nonexistent color, the greenish-yellow Anakin had known them to be, and the blue he’d seen so briefly. Then, just as it seemed that they’d begun to settle in the color of ocean and sky, they halted, and red began creeping in through the edges. 

Anakin watched second-hand as Ahsoka threw them to the ground, backing up as far away as she could, as the cave around her seemed to grow darker and darker, causing the red to become a dark beacon. 

_ “I can’t let you leave. Not anymore.”  _

It took Anakin a second to recognize the voice as his own, but when the connection clicked he saw a ghostly shadow of himself, emitting from the crystals like a holoscreen. He stood with the Father’s sword drawn, lit in the angry hues of lava that had surrounded them when he’d killed the Son. It made his face look sharper, meaner than it was. Than he thought it was, at least. 

He could feel the way Ahsoka’s heart picked up, the memory of a haunting. 

Suddenly, he was replaced with an image of Ahsoka, young like she’d been in the vision with Rex, walking alone on a dark street that rang of the lower levels of Coruscant that they’d just been hiding on. Behind her, another figure trailed, eyes glued forward but matching Ahsoka’s pace in the way that only people who didn’t want to be seen together but needed to talk did. 

_ “Just because I used to kill your precious clones by the hundreds doesn’t mean I enjoy having to, Little Jedi.” _

_ “I told you not to kill anyone.”  _

_ “What am I supposed to do? They’re the ones firing at us.”  _ Ventress's voice echoed, clearing itself with every syllable.  _ “Though, I suppose you could always end that by turning yourself in.” _

_ “I’m not guilty. I’m going to prove it.” _

_ “You haven’t done so yet.” _

_ “That’s why I need your help.” _

_ “And what of your precious Master? He won’t help?” _

As they walked, they passed an alley blurred by the vision. For the briefest of seconds, Anakin saw the shadow of himself looming, sword raised high above his head before bringing it back down and disappearing again. Ahsoka looked away. 

_ “No. He can’t help.”  _

Again, the visions changed, this time raising higher and vaster than ever before. Anakin couldn’t make out the exact shapes, could only see silhouettes, but they held the same air of importance as the Council. 

_ “–guilty–” _

_ “–convicted of–” _

_ “–high treason–” _

_ “–the Republic’s defender–” _

_ “–never expected this from you–” _

_ “–the protege of two of our finest–” _

_ “–such a shame–” _

_ “–such high hopes–” _

_ “–you could have been so excellent–” _

_ “–so formidable–” _

_ “–such a talent–” _

_ “– _ **_wasted_ ** _.”  _ they all seemed to say at once.

_ “–three years–” _

_ “–ten years–” _

_ “– _ life _ in prison–” _

_ “–and what do you have to say for yourself–” _

_ “–Youngling–” _

_ “–Padawan–” _

_ “–Knight–” _

_ “–Master–” _

_ “–Grandmaster–” _

_ “–Councilmember Tano?” _

Ahsoka watched in the vision, as a blurred reflection of herself stepped forward, calm and destroyed in the same breath. As if she already knew what was coming. Had known the whole time. A hand reached out to her shoulder, and Anakin saw a claw that matched Plo’s. Then a glove that matched his own. Then the calluses that matched Obi-Wan. Then a ring that matched Padme’s collection. Then nothing. Noone. 

In the vision, Ahsoka looked up, and suddenly in the center the haze lifted, and Obi-Wan was situated, high above her and staring down. There was pity in his eyes.  _ Love _ in his eyes, in a way that Anakin knew he would never express. He’d been her Padawan, too, after all. 

_ “Ahsoka,”  _ he said, gentle and kind and patient as ever,  _ “what do you have to say for yourself?” _

With poise and dignity, Ahsoka pressed back her shoulders, jutted her chin out, and spat, using the Force to help it fly up and land on Obi-Wan’s cheek. 

_ “E chu ta,”  _ she bit out before more bodiless hands, this time wearing the armor of Jedi Sentinels, reached out and pulled her back, and the visions finally cleared. 

The memory of Ahsoka stayed curled up, as far away from the red crystals as she could be without abandoning the cavern entirely. And the worst part? Anakin could feel her curiosity, her desire to maybe sneak a bit closer, just to examine. Because there wasn’t shame or guilt that came with those memories. There was firm belief. That she’d done what was right, that she had made the correct choices. 

Anakin watched from the corner of her own mind as she crept forward, reached an experimental hand towards the crystal, then retracted it like it bit her. Because… it was angry. And so was she, but not like this. This was untethered, blind rage. She’d learned to focus her emotions down like a fine dagger. 

So, when she reached a hand out again, it wasn’t with curiosity, it was with understanding and acceptance, but also kindness. A willingness to persevere. As her fingers brushed over them, the red seeped out once more, as if pulling from the crystal and into her body, and all that was left was a bright starry white. 

The memory faded, and Anakin was left looking at Ahsoka now, haunted and searching his eyes for approval, for him to tell her that everything was okay. On autopilot, he got up and came over, pulling her up and into another reassuring hug. 

“You did great, Snips,” he mumbled, then pulled apart and lent down to grab the crystals, putting them in her hands. “You deserve them.”

With a smile, she nodded, blinked a bit in that emotional-suppression way he recognized from himself, and let out a quick, “Thanks, Skyguy,” before setting off out of the cave, back towards the ship and the next leg of their journey. 

And as Anakin watched her go, he wanted to feel proud. He wanted to be happy that she’d overcome this issue and had grown into such a powerful fighter, even without him. But he couldn’t shake the recognition of that red, of those defensive, impulsive actions he’d seen. He couldn’t stop thinking about how he knew them so well because he did them too, and he’d always been cautioned against them. 

As Ahsoka walked out into the bright snowy plane of Ilum, Anakin wanted to feel her joy, but all he could wrestle with was the dark, sinking pit of fear that was building in his stomach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uhhhh... this took to months to post. My bad. That wasn't an epic gamer moment of me. 
> 
> College started and all of a sudden I had to read 3 plays and 5 essays every week. I wish I could promise that updates will start coming more regularly but, if I'm being honest, I'm still getting used to the workload. 
> 
> In happier news! I wrote a piece for Found: A Clone Wars Zine, which the absolutely WONDERFUL artist @esmioraa illustrated! Pre-orders start this Friday, all proceeds are being donated to charity, and there are so many talented artists, writers, and chefs that worked on this!
> 
> I love you guys, for realsies, I'm sorry updates are slow. Thanks for sticking with me!


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